prevaricate
by pleasantly.demented
Summary: Beth Greene has reunited with her family in the ASZ, but that isn't a story she's willing to tell. Because to the new version of herself, it doesn't matter. Eventual Bethyl. Slow-ish burn. Action, drama, friendship, love, character studies! Supporting cast including our TWD faves & some brand new villains. Rated M - language, graphic violence, sexual situations, sexual assault
1. using white lighters to see

**Author's Note:** _This is my first published fanfiction. I am a self-proclaimed lifelong lurker and lover of fanfiction. I have been a huge Bethyl fan and lurker of all things Bethyl since circa season 3. I've been trying to cope with the loss of her character, and my coping usually ends up in the form of writing. First and foremost, I'm a fan of this show, and...well, fanfiction. Always looking for new stories to read. So, why shouldn't I publish for others out there like me? I've got a LOT written and a good idea of where this story is going. Starts out pretty slow, long-winded at times. The pace will pick up in a few chapters if I decide to continue. All mistakes are my own. I do not own and am not in any way affiliated with The Walking Dead, sadly. Let me know what you think; reviews will likely motivate me to write more, write faster, and, hopefully, update quicker. If not, I'll probably keep posting anyway for my own catharsis._

 _Here we go ~ CLB  
_

 **Chapter 1: using white lighters to see  
**

In the end—or, in the beginning?—it doesn't matter how she got there. The _old_ her may've argued that _it does matter_ , but the _new_ her knows that now it's not important. She made it back to her family with the help of her ability to remember how to track, how to fight, and how to differentiate between the ones who were good and bad, with a dash of miracle on the side. 

She had arrived at the Alexandria Safe Zone and reunited with her family. 

There were apologies and tears and welcomes from her family; the ones she knew and loved and the new extensions. There were smiles and laughs and sobs filling her senses, wonder and awe from those who still couldn't believe Beth Greene had made it, that she wasn't just another dead girl, despite all they'd seen. 

There were steely blue eyes, half covered by dark, dirty hair, that widened and narrowed, gazed at her and left her in the same breath. No words of welcome from her last companion, her only companion for so many weeks. No tears, not that she expected any—not from him. She may have seen the slightest bit of surprise in his eyes when she first set foot in this new community, when she defied all odds and then some, showing up alone, beaten and battered with new scars. 

She didn't have much time to think on it for the first several days after her return. Those were spent in the Rhee house, with Maggie fawning and hovering over her, repeating the same unnecessary apologies and treating her like a porcelain doll until Beth began to feel the sharp edges of legitimate anger and resentment towards her older sister. 

Beth didn't say much. To anyone. She let Maggie go on and on, allowed her to go through every stage of grief so that she could find acceptance and put the rest away. It didn't matter, not anymore. Glenn looked on quietly and with a vaguely apologetic look on his face. 

When a few days had gone by, Beth began to feel suffocated. Claustrophobic from the constant hovering, the questions, the doting. She could see why her family had chosen to stay here; it was certainly the closest thing to a safe haven that any of them had likely encountered since the prison. She heard the stories of Terminus, of the return and redemption of Carol, who she had only been allowed to speak to briefly when they were together at Grady, of their harsh travels through the heat of the summer, and their invitation and journey to the safe zone, led by Aaron. 

She met the new members of their family as well as the people of Alexandria, who were mostly kind although naïve and inadequately equipped or prepared to handle what was beyond their walls. She learned that most of them had been at the safe zone since the beginning—or the end. 

It was late. Everyone was in bed with their lights off as far as she could tell down the stretch of road that divided their community. Quiet surrounded her physically, but her brain, damaged as it was, wouldn't shut off. She'd been reading some medical books she'd found in the infirmary and realized she'd been lucky that most of her memories remained intact, that the headaches had dulled in intensity and frequency over time, and that she could speak, even if it took her a little more time than before to find the right words and arrange them in the correct order to form a coherent sentence. 

The feeling of suffocation was worst at night. When she could hear the faint giggles from her sister and brother-in-law's room across the hall that eventually bled into light snores filling the house until the morning hours. When the quiet was so thick that she longed for the snarls of the undead or the soft chirping of the insects in the woods that she had traveled—alone—for so long. 

Beth stood up quietly and stood in the doorway of her room. _Her room_. Her room that didn't feel like her room in this house that didn't feel like her house in this community that she felt was slowly driving her towards insanity. The way the people here carried on was absurd, though no one would hear her admit that aloud. Dinner parties. Book clubs. Cooking lessons. Really? A small part of her recognized that the _old_ her would have been delighted that these people were choosing to _live_ , not just exist. But the _new_ her, hardened by the world and all of the bad within it, thought that they were all a bunch of idiots, clinging to the luxuries of a world and a life that were long gone. It was only a matter of time before the rude awakening happened. Before their shitty walls fell down and the plug was pulled, swirling all of those who'd blatantly ignored what the world was now down the drain. 

Once she was satisfied that Maggie and Glenn were sleeping (and thank some god that they were both heavy sleepers), she padded down the carpeted stairs and slipped on her boots. She grabbed a knife from the block in the kitchen and stuck it down low into the inside of her boot and covered it neatly with her jeans. Maggie'd bothered her for days about sleeping in pajamas "like a normal person." Beth had shrugged and said nothing, unwilling to let herself feel vulnerable and unprepared to run if and when needed. She didn't expect her sister, who had adapted unbelievably well to this new environment, to understand. 

She closed the door silently and exhaled the breath she'd been holding deep and tight in her lungs. The nights were getting cooler; she could almost see her breath if she looked hard enough into the night. 

She sat on the front porch steps for a while, feeling a small bit of relief. At the gates, she saw the guards on watch, whispering quietly to one another. Not doing much watching or guarding. She couldn't make out who they were, but she hoped like hell they weren't any of the assholes high on pseudo-authority who would scold her and send her back to bed. She'd noticed more of those around here than she'd like to admit, and not all of them were outside of her own family. 

She didn't think about the past if she could help it. Coping mechanism, so the medical textbooks claimed. She didn't think about the last time she was with her family. About her daddy. Grady. Noah, who she'd learned hadn't made it long after his successful escape and her unsuccessful one. She didn't think about all the ones she'd learned her family had lost between the time of her "death" and resurrection. 

She didn't think about the weeks she'd spent with Daryl. Their last meal. Their last conversation, which had never been finished. He walked around this place like a ghost but with some kind of a purpose. He wasn't around much, really. Not one of the many constantly hovering. She'd appreciated that in some sense; she'd had more than enough of the hovering. But he'd barely spoken a word to her, barely acknowledged her since she'd returned. She felt his eyes on her when they were in the same room or the same vicinity outside in the light. Only when she was looking somewhere else, or pretending to. 

She hadn't been assigned a job yet but she'd learned that Daryl was a recruiter along with Aaron. She envied that his job requirements included leaving these walls at regular intervals. Dangerous, yes, but she wasn't entirely convinced that the inside wasn't just as dangerous. 

She began walking down the road, aimlessly, lost in her thoughts, half-formed as they were. She thought of finding a purpose, of how happy—or as close to happy as she got these days—that she'd be once she was assigned a job. Something she could use to exhaust herself enough to sleep at night. 

"Better hope them dicks up there don't see ya out here." His voice came out of nowhere, just as she was deliberating over which way she'd walk next. 

She couldn't see him in the darkness that engulfed the streets, an unwritten rule that the residents kept all their indoor and outdoor lights off at nighttime. Only source of light was up near the guards' posts at the gates. And the moon, casting silvery shadows along the roads and houses enclosed in this suburbanite prison. 

She stared toward the direction from which his gravelly voice came, eventually saw the cherry blaze at the end of what she assumed was his cigarette. He was leaning up against the siding of the house that she'd discovered was his; he shared it with Rick, Michonne, Carl, and Judith. 

"Daryl." She mumbled quietly, first stopping in her tracks and then proceeding slowly to where she now knew he was standing. "What are ya doin'?" 

"Knitting," he quipped. Humorless. Bordering on irritated, if she had to guess. She shrugged it off, leaning up against the house beside him. As if this weren't the most they'd spoken to one another since she'd returned. As if they'd been friends, as if they'd been _something_ , before. 

"How ya been? Haven't had a chance to talk to you much." _Or at all_ , she added silently. 

"Fine." His answer was short, with no hint of any desire to elaborate or even continue this sort-of conversation. 

She was quiet for a long time. Just breathing. Looking at nothing but the blackness that somehow soothed her, made her feel less afraid than the cozy home she'd left earlier that night. 

"We ever gonna talk about it?" She'd asked it quietly, figured she had nothing to lose. He'd already essentially been ignoring her existence, avoiding her looks. 

He paused mid-exhalation, the smoke curling around the two of them like some mystic fog, cocooning them from the rest of the world, inside and outside of the walls. 

" _It_." He repeated. Not really a question, so she didn't even begin to form an answer. 

"Told ya long ago, girl. Don't know what you want from me." He said it quietly; she could tell without seeing that he had bent his head down, staring at his boots, or the ground, or the earth's core. 

"Don't want nothin'. 'Cept maybe you could put in a good word for me to Deanna or Aaron or whoever it is that decides our jobs." She chanced a glance at his face, saw a small grimace webbing out across his features and ending in the crinkle of his eyes. 

"What job is it you're hoping for?" 

"Anythin' that gets me outside these walls. As often as possible." She responded without hesitation. She knew that if anyone were to understand this, it'd be him. 

He grunted. She wasn't sure what this one meant, though over the time she'd spent with him and him alone, she'd come to understand many of his nonverbal responses. 

"Maybe they need a hunter?" She suggested. 

"Yeah? Think they'll just send ya out, some girl that just got here, make you responsible for feedin' all o' these people? Ain't learned much out there, have ya?" His tone held a bit of condescension, but Beth wasn't offended. 

"Learned that givin' people a chance ain't the worst call in the world to make sometimes. 'Specially if no one else wants the job. Only one more qualified to do it's you, and you're on the recruitin' team." She tilted her chin slightly and turned towards him, somewhat startled that he was looking right back at her, or at least she thought so. Hard to tell in the dark. 

"Ain't got no huntin' team. Bring back what I can when we go out on recruiting missions. Ain't nobody else here a hunter. And we never got the chance to finish your lessons." He tossed his butt onto the ground, stomping it quietly with the tip of his boot, and crossed his arms over his chest, letting his head fall back silently to lean up against the house. His body had turned slightly towards hers, but he mostly remained facing forward. If someone'd walked by, it'd appear he was taking no interest in the conversation from the youngest Greene girl. 

"Well, maybe they'd let me join the recruitin' team. When we aren't recruitin' we can hunt. You can keep teachin' me. I'll stick by ya, keep learnin'. Kept myself alive for quite a while out there on my own, y'know. Think they'll go for that?" She turned her body more toward his, her eyes fighting to look into his while his darted around, avoiding her face entirely. 

A brief flash of what could only be described as a tornado of emotions appeared over his features. Pain. Pride. Sorrow. Fear? She wasn't sure. It was all gone too soon. 

"Maybe. I'll talk to Aaron 'bout it. Let ya know. Better get back inside." He started to turn away from Beth to head towards the front porch of his house. 

She reached out her hand on impulse, lightly touching his shoulder and not missing the way he tensed when he felt the contact. Nevertheless, he froze in his tracks, head tilted slightly to one side. 

"I—" Beth started, suddenly feeling foolish and unsure of herself, though she wasn't sure why. Just a few short—weeks, months?—ago, he was carrying her bridal-style across the threshold of the funeral home kitchen to set her down for a meal he'd "prepared." 

"Thanks, Daryl." She all but whispered, letting just a bit of emotion seep into her words. She wanted him to know she meant it. 

"'S'nothin'," he shrugged and walked towards his house. She followed a few paces behind, passing him up as he turned to climb up the steps to the front porch of his home. She continued back up the road toward the north end of town, toward her house. She wasn't sure, but she swore she felt his eyes on her, boring a hole into the back of her head as she walked away. _Another hole_ , she thought warily, shrugging it off and continuing home.


	2. like the chorus to the verse

**A/N:** _As I mentioned previously, I have LOT written for this already. Since I'm a new author and this is my first story, I figured it might be helpful for me to post the next chapter to give you an idea of several things; my writing style, my pace (which, again, will pick up quickly and may slow down through certain points), and my chapter length (spoiler alert: LONG!). Any suggestions are welcome._

 _The theme of this story is a blatant but still difficult lack of acknowledgement or willingness to acknowledge the past - "before", as my Beth refers to it. She has an internal struggle as she tries to relate to her family and how they've changed in comparison to what she's known in the past, because she doesn't want to think about the past. Period. Chooses not to think about it. She's focused on moving forward at this point. She's back, it's not important (yet!) how she made it, but she did. She's halfheartedly trying to fit in with her new environment while at the same time doesn't feel compelled to change who she is (into a new version of herself or back to the old version of herself) for anyone. Hopefully that kind of clears up where I'm coming from._

 _Daryl is closed off. Hopefully we will get to the point where we can see a little bit of his point of view. To me, this is in character for him. He is blaming himself. Avoiding her, possibly so he won't lash out, or so he won't have to feel like the guilt is killing him. Doesn't mean he doesn't want to protect her or that he isn't happy she's back. Doesn't mean that he's forgotten all the ways she helped him move forward._

 _That said, it'll take a few chapters to get into the swing of things. I like a believable build-up, relationships that have some substance to them, characters that are developed but still capable of keeping us wondering. This chapter, we get a little of Beth's self-assessment and realization, a job opportunity, and some more D/B interaction.  
_

 _p.s. chapter titles are taken from song lyrics. I don't own them either ;)_

 _xx_

 **chapter 2: speak to you, like the chorus to the verse**

Beth had woken up slowly the next morning, unsure if she had actually even really slept. She felt groggy, her eyes itched with grime and grain each time she blinked. She rolled over on the hard floor, pushing herself up into a sitting position, allowing the swirling sensation in her head to dissipate before standing up. The bed wasn't comfortable. Or maybe it was, but _she_ wasn't comfortable in it. She smelled the bacon and coffee being prepared downstairs, heard the soft conversation between her sister and brother-in-law.

She went to bathroom in the hallway, brushed her teeth and scrubbed some water from the faucet—something she still wasn't quite used to—over her face, dabbed her eyes before rubbing them raw and popping them open. Chanced a look in the mirror, something she'd rarely done even when she'd been out on the run by herself.

She was still herself; blonde mess of hair, pale skin and blue eyes too big for her face. But she was different. The soft, rounded corners outlining the structure of her face had evolved into hard edges, lined with scars and scrapes—some visible, others faded or never even _physically_ there—that reminded her she could have this small moment. She didn't have to think about the past, because, just like crying, she didn't _do_ that anymore. But she could look at her reflection and feel _something_ ; sadness about the girl she once was and would never be again, or perhaps pride for the strong woman she'd become. It didn't make her weak.

After breakfast, she'd been asked by Eric (Aaron's boyfriend, as Beth had gathered) to meet with Deanna. Her belly lurched at the thought of finally being assigned a job. She waved to Carol, who was standing on the front porch of her home, identical to several others in the community, placing a freshly-baked pie on a small table to cool. Was she wearing a floral cardigan? A feeling of nausea crept up her esophagus at the sight, so she turned her eyes forward, following Eric further up the road to Deanna's house.

xxx

"Ms. Greene," Deanna greeted her in the living room. "Please have a seat." Beth sat down in one of the chairs across the desk from the community's crass leader. Beth still didn't have any particularly strong opinion on the woman. She'd witnessed her barking orders at some members of the community, confiding in quiet corners with her family, speaking with conviction to Rick or Michonne, who were the community's—well, law enforcement officers, she'd guessed.

"I've received some feedback from several of your peers. I hear you have a natural knack for tracking." She raked her eyes up and down Beth from her face to her toes and back again, her look mostly unreadable, though Beth got the vague impression that Deanna found such information difficult to believe. Beth shrugged, following the path of Deanna's eyes from her beaten and worn boots to her jeans, rips and tears in random places and definitely _not_ for any ideal of fashion, long-sleeved shirt covered with a jean jacket Maggie had given her.

"You'll be going out with Mr. Dixon and Aaron on their next recruiting mission. On a trial basis only, mind you. There are plenty of other jobs on-site that could use the touch of a young woman like yourself if we or you find that it's not a good fit."

Beth ignored the latter part of the woman's statement, fixating on the fact that in just a few days' time she'd be going out in the woods again, out of this community.

She thanked Deanna for the opportunity and left the house with the closest imitation of a genuine smile plastered across her face that she'd felt since before she'd been shot in the head.

xxx

She'd found Daryl later that day sitting on an old piece of shit that was probably once a lawn chair, bent over a map, smoking a cigarette. He was in an alleyway between the rows of houses. The uneven rooftops and heights of the buildings cast strange but beautiful shadows across the angel wings adorning his back. Beth felt inclined to just stare for a few moments before deciding that would be strange and definitely not worth the embarrassment she's sure she'd feel if she'd gotten caught.

Beth approached him quietly. They'd worked on this quite a bit before—well, before they couldn't any more. They'd practiced sneaking up on one another. First in the various houses they stopped at, then in open clearings, and later in the woods, where it was much more difficult to differentiate the sound of a footstep from a strong breeze. Daryl would critique her. Tell her which patches of land she should walk over flat-footed, on the sides of her feet, horizontally. How to control her breathing.

She was right behind him when she heard him let out a quiet grunt, saw the subtle shake of his head. "You're still tippy-toein', Greene. Not always wrong. But when ya get this close to the target, it's the loudest shit in the world. Didn't hear ya till the last 7 feet or so." He didn't look at her, simply flipped the map around and drew an imaginary line with the hand holding his cigarette, mumbling to himself.

Feeling a bit embarrassed and even more annoyed, she plucked the cigarette from his fingers and stuck it in her mouth, taking a long drag. She hadn't ever smoked, before. When she was alone, she'd come across a dead man, half his rotting corpse eaten by walkers. She'd found a half pack of smokes and a lighter in his torn up jeans. Initially, she'd clung to them like a photograph, vowed to herself that _when_ she found Daryl again, she would give them to him. But boredom, curiosity, and perhaps a little bit of hopelessness overtook her original plan and she'd smoked each one of them over the next several days. She'd found comfort in the smell, the way the smoke burnt her throat and lungs as she inhaled, the way the smoke looked like nothing else, the way that she could exhale it and try to create patterns that resembled other people, or animals, or anything living.

He turned then, slightly, in his chair, peeking up at her through the strands of hair falling across his forehead. "The fuck, girl? Your dad would kill you."

"So would my sister." She shrugged, exhaling the smoke through the side of her mouth and away from his face, though that was silly since he smoked anyway.

"What're ya lookin at?" She jerked her head once toward the map still strewn across his lap.

He glared at her a second and then shifted his focus back to the map in. "Comin' up with a route for the recruit. We covered all these areas last time," he motioned with his finger, showing the southern half of the state down into Georgia. "Think we're gonna try to circle up this way, look 'round the northwest part of the state."

She studied the map. Wasn't quite sure how useful it was, seeing as how most of the roads would be a no-go, from what she'd experienced during her time traveling alone. She nodded at him, took one last, long drag of his cigarette before placing it back in between his fingers.

He hesitated briefly, glancing at her and then at the cigarette, rolling it around between his fingers, before bringing the filter to his lips and taking a long pull of his own.

She'd felt something when he'd done that, deep inside her, licking hotly at the sides of her belly; knowing and knowing that he knew that her lips had just been in the place that his now were. She closed her eyes for a second, cleared her throat.

"So I guess ya heard I get a chance to come with ya'll on the recruit."

He nodded but didn't look up from the map.

"Deanna said it's just a trial. Had me feelin' like she'd rather me be here, cookin' or some shit. What's up with Carol, anyway?" She lowered her voice, still standing at his side while he sat studying the map, hoping no one was around to hear their conversation. She'd heard how Carol had single-handedly saved all her family members' asses from the freaks at Terminus.

Daryl shrugged. "Nothin'. Got herself a job, like the rest of us. Don't mean she can't remember how to shoot a gun if she needs to."

Beth sighed, letting it go for the time being. She figured it wasn't so different from the prison. _We all got jobs to do_ , an unwelcome voice in her head whispered; sounded vaguely like someone she used to know. Or used to be.

xxx

Later that evening, she'd actually wanted to bash her head in. Add a few new scars, maybe. Her sister was just. _Too. Much._

"I still think this is ridiculous, Beth." Maggie was pissed. She'd been pissed since Beth had decided to tell her about her potential job opportunity. She was pacing the length of the living room in their home, back and forth, while Beth sat on the loveseat, picking at her jeans. "We're planting gardens, trying to make some crops. We could use the help _here_. Aaron and Daryl are more than capable of carryin' on their recruiting business themselves." She looked at Glenn, sitting opposite Beth on the sofa, who just shrugged noncommittally. She turned her glare then at Rick and Carl, who were sitting on the sofa next to Glenn. The two Grimes men had been over visiting, or so Maggie had told Beth, though it was apparent now that she was scrapping for support for her _keep-Beth-in-my-sigh_ _t_ cause.

"I think it's awesome," Carl chimed in. "Beth knows a good person when she sees one. And now with Daryl havin' taught her how to track and hunt an' all, she'll be safe."

Beth smirked at Carl, who'd grown so much since she'd last seen him. She'd only been able to manage visiting with Judith once. The pain was still there, raw and stinging, and though spending time with the people she'd once believed she'd never see again should have had the opposite effect, it was more like pouring salt into her still-fresh wounds than healing them.

"It's just a trial, from what I hear," Rick said, all dressed up in his officer uniform, shrugging one of his shoulders. "Give her a chance, Maggie. Daryl ain't gonna let anything happen to her. Neither's Aaron. And if she don' like it, she's still got the chance to find somethin' else." He smiled at Beth, giving her a small wink and a pat on the shoulder as he moved toward the door.

Maggie looked from Carl to Rick to Glenn and huffed, releasing an exaggerated sigh. She stopped in front of her husband, shoving him lightly. "You're s'posed to take my side, just so you know."

"I am _not_ getting involved in this," Glenn laughed, brushing her off gently. "I do not want to be on my li'l sis's bad side. Not after all she's proven she's capable of." Beth looked up and gave her brother-in-law the warmest smile she could stomach.

xxx

"A'right. Daryl – crossbow, knives. Me – knife and handgun. Beth?" It was the morning they were to leave for the recruiting mission and Aaron was ensuring the three of them had their weapons prepared. They'd already been through the checklist of the belongings in their packs.

"Oh," Beth started. "All I had when I got here was a poor excuse for a shiv that I made outta some tree limbs." She shrugged. "Gave it to ya'll as ya asked when I came in."

Aaron smiled. "Opportunist. I like it. Give me one second." He jogged off toward the armory building where all the weapons were kept, giving Daryl a quick friendly pat on the shoulder as he left.

Beth could sense Daryl looking at her as she stared down at her feet, making figure 8's with her boots in the dust covering the ground near the gates.

"Ya been eatin'?" He asked.

Beth's head shot up, her brows furrowing. "Uh, yeah. Multiple times a day, in fact. Think Maggie'd let me go _anywhere_ without makin' sure I eat way more'n I  
need?"

"Don' look like it. Too skinny." He reached his arm out slowly toward one of hers, grabbing her above the elbow. "Ain't got no muscle left on them arms."

She fought to keep the shiver from surfacing, feeling a sense of success when she knew that it was only internal. The red tips of her ears, however…

"Here ya go!" Aaron came running back over to them, holding what looked to be a handgun in one hand.

Daryl quickly released Beth's arm and she felt a strange sense of sadness as soon as he did. She took the handgun from Aaron when he reached them, nodding toward him in thanks.

xxx

They'd been out for a few hours when Aaron suggested they split up to cover more ground. Both Daryl and Aaron had maps and they were able to pick a specific point to meet up at dusk.

"I assume Beth will stick with you?" Aaron asked pointedly.

"Yea," Daryl shrugged. "I gotta keep an eye on her or her sister'll have me murdered."

Aaron let a look of fake intimidation spread across his features before waving them off with a quick "be safe."

Without being consciously aware of it, Daryl and Beth had fallen back into their old routine quickly. They could communicate without words when needed. They were mixing the goal of recruitment with some tracking practice and, when the opportunity presented itself, hunting.

Beth would be lying if she said this wasn't the most comfortable she'd felt in weeks. Since before. Though she wasn't alone, it felt natural having Daryl with her. She'd stopped a few times and just breathed in the sweet air; pine and soil and a hint of decay filling her nose and expanding pleasantly through her head, easing the ache that had been forming there for the past several days. Daryl had allowed her these moments, stood back and watched her, kept watch for her. So she'd be safe to sniff the air and let the breeze whisk away the blanket of discomfort he must have known she'd been feeling inside the safe zone. So she'd be safe to just stand, motionless, for several minutes in the middle of an unkind forest that was likely filled with the things of nightmares—rabid animals, poisonous plants, the undead—and with the potential of housing a more dangerous threat—the living.

They hadn't seen any tracks for quite some time. None that weren't clearly those of the undead. They'd decided to get some hunting in, as what tracks they _had_ seen of the living belonged to animals.

In the distance, Beth spotted a rabbit. She crouched down low, next to the underbrush of an unruly tree that reminded her vaguely of her own hair, Daryl somewhere off behind her. She didn't want the potential food source to have the chance to get away, so she reached down and made to load her gun when she felt the brush of fingertips at her shoulder. She startled slightly and half-glanced at Daryl who was shaking his head, loading his crossbow silently behind her.

She grinned. She hadn't shot the crossbow since—well, before. He handed it to her, a small smirk of his own twitching at one corner of his lips. She wondered fleetingly if he thought she'd have forgotten what to do by now.

She steadied herself, the weight of the crossbow feeling distantly familiar in her hands. Safe. She felt Daryl's hot breath against her neck as he sighted down with her. Feeling his subtle nod at the side of her, she inhaled deeply and silently and then exhaled while pulling the trigger.

The arrow whizzed through the air, striking the rabbit through its middle.

Beth turned her head and upper body slightly in sudden excitement and pride, the two most positive emotions she'd felt in as long as she could remember, to silently celebrate her kill with Daryl. His face remained mere inches from hers and she scratched her cheek, the one not marred by scars from a past she chose not to remember for the time being, along the stubble of his facial hair.

His eyes were forward, glued to the rabbit, but his head was tilted slightly downward, toward hers, and she could just see the small upturned corner of his mouth. He put his hand on her shoulder, loosely rubbing it in small, tight circles while never taking his eyes off of her kill. Congratulating her in his own way, she suspected.


	3. let me dream with the stars

**A/N:** _I realize that this is the **third** chapter I'm posting in ONE day (I swear, I do actually have a life...). Didn't take long for me to feel comfortable throwing it all out there, eh? I'm just excited to finally tell this story that's been weaving in and out of my head for damn near a year! _

_This chapter is (a tiny bit?) shorter than the others. But it's the discussion and conflict between Beth and Daryl that I feel has to happen before the plot can move forward. And move forward it will, from this point on! I love the dynamic that I'm trying to build between the two of them. It just can't happen until they've had this type of interaction. That's just who they are._

 _Thanks to anyone reading, reviewing, and/or adding this story to any of their lists. You give me life! I'm quite honestly amazed that anyone would want to read it._

 _xx_

 **chapter 3: let me dream with the stars  
**

They met up with Aaron at dusk. Beth and Daryl hadn't found any human tracks. Killed a few walkers as well as three rabbits (two by Beth, one by Daryl), which Daryl had connected to a rope and slung over his shoulder.

Aaron had found some tracks but indicated without so many words that they'd led to nothing that remained among the living.

"Figure we set up camp for the night. Try to head a bit more north 'fore we head back home?" Aaron posed the question into the air, indirectly, as Beth prepared a fire and Daryl set out the blankets and sleeping bags and strung the alarms.

Daryl grunted his approval while Beth remained silent. She liked not having to make decisions for the time being. Back in the safe zone, that had been what made her feel the crushing weight of suffocation; others telling her where to go and when. Here, though, with these two, she felt confident in their decisions. Felt confident _not_ having to think, to wonder if what they suggested was something she'd want to do or not do were she given the choice.

The night came quickly after they shared one of the rabbits, passing around a bottle of water to wash down the meal and the grime of the day.

"I'll take watch," Beth offered, despite feeling exhausted—mentally and physically—for the first time since before. Like she could actually sleep if she'd try. It was the best feeling she'd experienced since she'd reunited with her family. Like she'd done something worthwhile. Something that she'd wanted to do. In a place where she didn't feel the pressing weight of insecurity and discomfort sitting on her chest.

Aaron shrugged and looked at Daryl, who shook his head once while stoking the fire a bit. "Nah, girl. Get some rest. Yain't been sleepin' much from what I hear."

"You can join me or get some rest yourself, _Mr. Dixon_." She left him no time to respond, turned abruptly but quietly on her heels, walked a few yards away from the camp and sat on the ground, back propped up against a tree.

She exhaled the night air, shivering a bit at the chill in the subtle breeze, but she'd be lying if she said this wasn't the most comfortable, inside and out, she'd felt in weeks.

A short time later, she heard the soft crunching of the earth beneath his boots. She wasn't surprised when she felt the presence of him, sliding his back down the trunk of the tree and planting himself a few inches to her right side.

"No rest for the wicked?" She smiled into the darkness.

He scoffed. "Don't explain why you ain't restin'."

"I'm fine, Daryl. Think we've been over this. I don't need a chaperone." She lightly nudged his foot with hers.

He was silent beside her, but it was a heavy silence. She felt the unease slide from inside of him to the surface of him and into the air between them and she absorbed it through her pores. The words, or this version of them, that she'd repeated from _before_ floated densely in the silence, weighing it down, suffocating her.

She _didn't_ think about the past. There was no point. It didn't matter. But for him. For him, she would let herself. Because she knew. Knew him like she didn't know anyone else anymore. Knew what he was thinking and what he needed to hear.

"It's not your fault." Simple. Straightforward. His deepest fears all wrapped up into four words that she said quietly, softly, but with a forceful conviction.

She didn't miss his sharp intake of breath. His subtle shifting, fidgeting with his fingers. Probably chewing on his thumbnail, though the air remained thick and silent.

"I—I never wanted to talk about it. Any of it. People asked, keep on askin'. I deflect. 'Cause it doesn't matter. Maggie's the worst. But she's not the only one. Tryin' to understand how I lived, how I got outta that trunk ya'll left me in. How I found you." She spoke quietly, voice calm and even despite a stuttered word here and there, devoid of any of the emotion that she refused to let herself feel.

"Beth—" he whispered. She heard the pain there. Like he'd whispered her name into the night without a response for too long. Like he'd said her name like a prayer that'd gone unanswered for too many days.

She turned towards him, decided she needed to look him in the face. Make him understand. "I _ain't_ broken, Daryl. I could'a stayed in that trunk. Let myself starve. Turn. It was all right there. I wouldn't've had to do anythin'. No thought to it. Would'a been easy, probably easier than all of this. But I didn't. I made a choice to live. It is _not_ your fault, what happened. Any of it. Ain't anyone's fault. Ya'll had to keep going. Thought I was dead." She shrugged, felt a faint, cold stinging sensation in her eyes and blinked it back, swallowed the growing lump in her throat.

"I get it. I'd have done the same." She finished.

She was facing him but he'd kept his body turned forward, elbows propped on his knees, hands and head hanging down limply between them. His breathing had grown a bit deeper. He shook his head a time or two but said nothing for a long time, and she rested the side of her head against the rough bark of the tree and continued looking at him, at the darkness, at the sky. Listened to the quiet rumbles of Aaron's snores a few feet away. Not willing to say anything else. Not now.

"My head's all fucked up," he finally said, head still hanging low. Voice pained. "This has fucked me up worse'n anything. And I know I ain't told you all 'bout my past, but that's sayin' somethin'."

She understood. A dead girl, come back to life. Hell, he'd probably carried out of that place after she'd been shot. Been the one to put her lifeless body into the trunk. She shook her head, willing her mind to stay far away from those thoughts; didn't care nor want to know the specifics, because it didn't matter.

"But you don' get to say it ain't my fault," he whispered, lifting his head and turning it slightly toward her, not quite meeting her eyes. "I opened the door. Back at the funeral home, that's on me. Got you kidnapped. Got you in that fuckin' place to begin with."

She shook her head again, more for herself, to rid her brain of the memories threatening to surface.

She reached across the gap between them and grabbed his forearm, feeling a spark of electricity as she did, shooting from her fingertips up her arm, into her chest. A spark of life. A spark she hadn't felt since—well, before. Reminded her of the last time they'd been together, the last time he'd broken down, lashed out. She squeezed her eyes shut, brought herself and her mind back to the present.

"I don't wanna talk 'bout that, Daryl. I don't wanna hear _you_ talk 'bout it. I don't think about it. Be best if you didn't either. It don't matter." Her thumb was rubbing small, smooth circles on his arm. Trying to force the meaning of her words, of her unstated fears, of her apologies and her forgiveness, into him through his skin.

He laughed, silently and humorlessly. "Don't think about it? 'S'all there is to it, huh? Think just 'cause you got some brain damage that we all do? 'S'that it? It's _all_ I _can_ fucking think about." His words became louder and tighter, coiled with anger and pain and something else she couldn't quite comprehend. "Might'a gotten a little better 'fore you showed back up here. But how can you expect me to just not think about it? Every time I hear some stupid bitch hummin' some stupid ass song, I think 'bout it. Every time I see those goddamned scars on your face, on your head, I think 'bout it. Every time—"

"Ain't 'cause of my _brain damage_ that I don't think about it, you jackass," she hissed, cutting him off abruptly. It was too much for her to bear. To let him keep talking, keep reminding her of this _bullshit_ that she didn't _want_ to hear, talk, or think about, would surely cause her head, already humming with the harsh undercurrent of an oncoming mind-numbing ache, to explode all around them.

"It's 'cause I _choose_ not to. 'Cause why the fuck _would_ I? Think it'd be fun to think 'bout makin' a stupid mistake, puttin' your family at risk just 'cause you were pissed? Huh? Think it'd be fun to think about gettin' _shot in the head_ , left in a trunk and wakin' up completely disoriented, completely alone? That what you think, Daryl?" Her voice was rising a little, shaking a little with rage and adrenaline and sadness and embarrassment. Her nails were digging into his arm now, but he wasn't moving. Wasn't looking at her.

"Nah, don't answer." She gave her own humorless snort. "'Cause for you, it probably would be fun. Forgot you like to blame yourself for fuckin' everythin' and then take out the anger you have towards yourself on others. Must'a been my damaged brain," she spat. "Sorry, it ain't like that with me. I sure as hell ain't the same girl you knew before, but I still don't enjoy dwellin' on shit I can't do anythin' about."

She yanked her hand away from his arm, shifting her body back around to her side of the side of the tree, assuming her original position. Because she was here to keep watch. To watch for the walkers, to protect her family members after the apocalypse. Didn't matter how ridiculous all of that was, if she really let herself think about it. Nothing mattered. Except surviving. And this is how she survived now.

She wasn't surprised that, after a few minutes had passed, she'd heard him stand up and walk away.


	4. gave me the keys, locked every lock

**A/N: _Hi everyone - just a quick shout out to anyone who's read, favorited, followed, and reviewed this story! You guys are the best and the only reason I feel compelled to continue with this! Thanks to my unofficial pre-reader, T. If anyone else is interested in pre-reading/beta'ing, anything to help me improve, I'm all for it, just give me a holler!  
_**

 ** _Quick note about the chapter: we are diving rather quickly into some plot. This will continue to be Beth/Daryl-centric, just on the slow burn side of things. I don't want to bore you with all the reasons I've chosen to go the route I have (which may seem mean, introducing the large overarching conflict, which will drive the plot continuously forward, so early), but please stick this thing out with me. It's gonna be a fast-slow, character-heavy and plot-heavy story._**

 _ **If you're reading, please feel free to review! I'd love to know what you think. I'm all for constructive comments, encouragement, suggestions, anything. May have another chapter up by the end of the night.**_

 ** _xx_**

 **chapter 4: gave me the keys, locked every lock**

The rest of the recruiting trip had been uneventful and Beth may've considered it unfruitful were it not for the multiple hunting successes she and Daryl'd had. The three of them had the game they'd killed slung over their shoulders to bring back to Alexandria, which they'd be approaching by the time the sun began to set that evening.

Daryl and Beth had taken to ignoring one another unless it came to hunting. Beth had missed a couple of easy shots, which Daryl hadn't hesitated to point out (though he didn't dare congratulate her in any way on the many more shots she'd nailed).

"Need more practice. Shot looks sloppy. Form is shit. Got lucky with the ones you managed t' get." He'd grumbled a few days prior, after one such missed shot.

Though she'd snapped her head at him, ready to tell him where he could shove his fucking crossbow, she'd managed to keep the anger and irritation and words she'd surely regret under her tongue, not wanting to damage their fragile bond any further after she'd blown up at him a few nights before.

"Well, lucky for us, I don't see me doin' a whole hell of a lot until our next trip. Surely we can find some time for practicin'." There. That was civil. She smiled in his direction and, yeah, it was a little smug.

As they continued the journey, an inexplicable feeling of discomfort started to gnaw its way into Beth, starting in her head and then expanding from the inside to the outside, growing exponentially the closer they got to their home. The three of them were spread out but keeping an even pace with one another. Beth had been eyeing the ground closely for tracks, or anything out of the ordinary, concentrating as best she could on the sounds of the forest surrounding them, wondering if it was just her fucked up brain tricking her as it often had when she'd been alone.

But, no. Beth took a moment, in between her ministrations, to look over at her companions and instantly sensed that a tense energy had fallen over all three of them; it wasn't just her. While Aaron and Daryl had earlier been talking a bit about what they'd do when they returned home and when their next trip might be, they were now so, so silent. Looked to be channeling all of their energy into their other senses, just as she was, searching for danger with their eyes and ears and noses.

As they approached the hill, just over and beyond which Alexandria would become visible and real and attainable, she smelled it. Faint, relatively new, bitter. Familiar. Smoke. Not the comforting smell of Daryl's cigarettes or the small fire they'd built each night while out in the forest. This scent was different somehow. Ominous. A warning, maybe. Something big had been swept up in flames.

Though she was sure the others could smell it, they all remained silent as they ascended the hill. More silent than they'd been any other time during this trip. She saw the worried expression that overtook Aaron's features when he briefly met Beth's eyes across the distance between them, sharing a look as they approached the top of the hill.

Couldn't see much from up there. The gates and walls were hidden by the thick canopy of trees that sloped down the hill, the leaves of which hadn't been shed yet despite the insistent presence of autumn. Faint screams and voices echoed off of the hollow walls and into the forest around and below them.

As they began to make their way down the side of the wooded hill, the gates of Alexandria just appearing in their sights, all three stopped simultaneously. Daryl, who'd been hiking just in front of Beth, shot his arm out in front of her to halt her movements, his hand latched tightly, almost automatically, to her hip—which was likely an unconscious reaction on his part but still didn't fail to send shocks of goosebumps and radicular pulses of energy from the spot where his hand made contact with her up to her skull and down to her toes. She squeezed her eyes shut, brushing off her physical reaction from her stupid fucking body.

"What in the—what the fuck?" Aaron whispered, crouching almost immediately to the floor of the forest, bracing himself against a tree and reaching around to grab an old pair of binoculars from his pack to take a closer look. The strings of their trophies, the food for their loved ones, were long forgotten, left on the forest floor as Beth and Daryl assumed similar positions, remaining close to each other and close to Aaron, to protect themselves from being seen.

A loom of the thick smoke that'd been filling their senses and speeding their paces and heartbeats billowed up into the sky over what they could see of the safe zone in their mid-descent. Again, Beth checked the ground. No tracks. Or, maybe covered tracks? No signs of forced entry, the gates appeared to be slid and left open from here.

"Anyone on the guard towers?" Daryl asked, squinting. His hand had moved down from its original position on Beth's hip but still rested lightly on her thigh, shielding her or keeping himself grounded, she'd guessed, as she stayed crouched down, facing their sanctuary with a blank expression that she'd forced upon her face.

"Not that I can tell," Aaron responded, shaking his head and whistling lowly, trying to determine if anyone from their community was close enough to catch the signal. They waited, motionless, nothing but the rising and falling of their chests evident as they breathed.

The screaming had stopped, Beth noticed after a few moments had passed. The smoke continued to float thickly into the air, black and curling, eventually dissipating when it was high enough above the earth. Beth wondered if someone had come and lit the rows and rows of houses on fire, knocked down the shitty walls, overtook the people that (as she'd known deep down since she'd stepped foot inside the community) wouldn't have had a clue how to defend themselves against a horde of walkers should they invade, let alone more dangerous threats, such as other humans.

"Don't see nobody out here. We gotta get in there. Find the others." Daryl said simply. To them, to himself, to no one. No chance that they wouldn't follow him.

In a distant corner of her mind, Beth wondered if she should feel something more at this moment. She was amped up, ready to fight, blood pumping fast and hard in her chest and the vessels of her neck, but none of her family members had crossed her mind as they'd carefully and slowly descended the hillside. No sense of fear had crept its way up her spine or into her core. Maybe her flight-or-fight response had dismantled along with the damaged lobes of her brain.

They reached the expansion of the wall near the gates quickly, bracing their backs up against it, out of the view of anyone—friendly or not—who might be guarding the entrance. No one was running out of the entrance that Beth could see, nor was anyone coming from the woods. She didn't notice any vehicles within sight. _Who the hell were these people?_ She wondered to herself, only to quickly brush the thought away, because obviously it didn't matter. Someone was here. Someone who had been able to get past the people, her family members, who were left here guarding their home; someone who could have been and most likely was out in the woods at the same time as she and Daryl and Aaron had been. A shiver of energy shot through her bones at that thought.

Beth couldn't quite make out the quiet discussion going on between Daryl and Aaron at her side. Wouldn't be difficult to guess what they were discussing; plans, safe ways to get in and find their family members, secret entrances. _Wasting time_ , she'd thought with a hint of irritation, though her mind stayed far away from any particular person or people, which would have otherwise been the only things on her mind, before.

She was becoming increasingly anxious. Not for any particular reason that she could put her finger on, except for the fact that someone clearly wanted to fight. She was ready to crawl out of her skin with the need to fight back. Didn't care who the opponent may be. They were underestimating her, and not just her, but also her family, if they thought they could come in and overtake them without a fight.

Satisfied that Daryl and Aaron were still deep in their conversation, Beth took her chance at running away from them, off to the side, along the wall, toward the entrance of the safe zone. She'd pulled her gun, still loaded, out of its holster, holding it low in one hand, the knife she'd taken from the block at her sister's home several nights ago (which she'd kept on her every day since, just in case) in her other hand.

She vaguely heard Daryl's hissed obscenities as she continued running, diving quickly around the corner of the gate, which was hanging wide open, and out of sight. No one immediately in her sights, she crouched low to the ground at the side of the first house she approached.

The source of the fire was at the other end of the community, but the increasingly thick scent of it invaded all of her senses. She struggled to contain the itch in the back of her throat that was clawing at her, desperately trying to morph into a cough, threatening to reveal her position to anyone nearby. She flattened herself out on the ground, gun aimed and ready to fire at the first enemy she might see, knife on the ground beside her but within reach.

Daryl and Aaron remained outside the gate, though she could see Daryl peeking around the corner periodically, a deep scowl on his face. She fought the urge to flip him the bird and couldn't wait for the opportunity to tell him how maybe he should _practice_ his scoping skills when he had the time, because had she been an enemy, she would've blow his brains out by now, or at least gotten a decent shot or two in. _Maybe he'd be lucky enough to not survive it_ , another unwelcome thought crashed into her head but she pushed it out forcefully, scrubbing a hand over her face.

Suddenly, breaking the visions clouding her head, she heard a voice she didn't recognize. It wasn't too close, probably in the common area of the community, several hundred yards away from her current position, where the children had gathered on the warmer days to play and dance. If she scooted herself closer to the edge of the house, she'd probably be able to get a glimpse of what was going on.

"I said, who the FUCK'S your leader? Where'd your people get their weapons from, huh? Where you keepin' all your ammo? Not gonna talk now, huh, Mr. Officer? Well, I's got ways o' _makin'_ you talk." The unfamiliar voice yelled. Loud, uncaring if he were to be heard. Beth inched closer to the corner of the house, allowing only her eyes to peek around the corner, finding a large, burly man dressed in all black with the short nose of a gun jammed into the side Rick's head, bashing it into his face and skull a few times as he spoke. Rick. The fearless leader of her family. The man who'd visited the entire spectrum of sanity and still came out the other side.

Rick was on his knees with another man restraining his arms from behind. Blood trickled down the corner of his lips and his nostrils as he huffed deep breaths, the new injuries probably from where the man in black had beaten him. Beth didn't see any fear in his eyes. He remained silent as the man in black went on, asking questions that she wasn't sure Rick would've been able to answer had he wanted to.

No one else was visible from where Beth had posted herself. Well, except for Daryl, who continued his annoying peeping Tom act from the outside of the gate. He was more stationary now, keeping his eyes on what was happening in the center of the community. He wouldn't be visible to them from so far away, but she could see or perhaps feel the alarm radiating from his eyes. She wondered briefly and without any particular emotion where her family members were. Where the people of Alexandria were. Dead? Hiding out? Burnt to death? She squeezed her eyes shut, bringing her focus back to the present.

Beth quickly observed her surroundings. She was still on the ground, up against the first house in the first row of homes closest to the gates. She could see no one else, even as she curved her neck more fully around the corner of the house to check out the scene taking place with Rick and the two other men, who were the only others in her line of sight. She knew that Aaron and Daryl had her covered in the back. She could take these two fuckers out. She'd done worse, before.

The one behind Rick was the problem, as he was facing her direction. She couldn't get to the man in black without taking him out first; she noticed he had a gun lying on the ground next to him. She couldn't get a clear shot at him from here. Not with the shit handgun she'd been given. Not with the dull steak knife she'd taken from Maggie's. If only she had—

She whipped her head around, waiting for Daryl to move his eyes to her. When he finally did, she motioned for him to join her with a quick jerk of her head. He looked annoyed briefly but then, when she'd signaled that the coast was clear, quickly and quietly made his way over to the side of the house, crouching just behind Beth.

She'd started to come onto her knees, turning her attention to Daryl, intending to tell him about her plan to save Rick, but he'd immediately grabbed her by both shoulders, roughly pulling her up onto her knees and whirling her body around to face him.

His blue eyes were ice, breath shallow and rapid and right in her face.

He gripped her upper arms with force—real force that may've actually been painful, before. Instead, it just pissed her off now.

Since he was apparently taking his time to verbalize anything while the battle raged on around them, she took it upon herself to break the infuriating silence: "Daryl, what the _hell_ is your problem?"

" _My_ problem?" He spat, incredulous, hot breath fanning over her face. "Are you fuckin' serious, Beth? What the hell kind'a stunt you tryin' to pull? There are BAD fucking people in here!" He shook her slightly and she began to struggle against his grasp.

"Let me _go_!" She whispered harshly. "We have to help Rick, in case you didn't notice!"

"Uh-uh. Gonna keep your ass right here." He said, maintaining his firm hold on her. While she kept up a small amount of struggle against him, he effectively and without much effort switched positions with her, keeping one grip tight on her arm as he looked around the corner of the house to get a better assessment of the situation.

"Fuck." He said. Beth struggled to avoid rolling her eyes, again thinking about the wasted time. "'S'only two of 'em. Think I can get a clear shot of the one holdin' Rick from here."

"Hence why I invited your _rude_ ass over here to stake out." Beth couldn't help it. Her voice was harsh, cold even, but he wasn't even giving her a chance here. She wasn't a fucking child nor was she stupid. She'd not have come over here if there were imminent danger. Wouldn't have risked having him come over here if there'd been a horde of walkers or, worse, a group of people waiting to strike.

He huffed, his eyes still angry but his attention focused elsewhere. "Whatever. Just stay the fuck still, Greene, and watch my back."

With a slow but sure pace, he cocked his crossbow and positioned it to take aim. Beth kept her back glued against the side of the house, inches away from Daryl, as she watched him inhale then exhale while pulling the trigger, just as he'd taught her.

She'd heard a muffled _thunk_ seconds later.

"Kyle? What the—where the fuck did that come from?" It was the man who'd been demanding information from Rick. Beth snuck a quick glance around the corner, finding Daryl's intended target sprawled on his back behind Rick, an arrow that appeared to be lodged in his skull pointing towards the heavens.

The man in front had dropped the gun from Rick's head, turned around in a circle, looking in all directions for the archer while in the meantime Rick had regained his bearings, lunging forward on the man just as Daryl had stood from his crouched position, his body humming with energy, no doubt intending to surge forward to take the man out himself. Rick drove the blade of his knife through the man's skull before collapsing face-down on the ground.

A few people—their family, the members of Alexandria—began emerging from what Beth had assumed was their hiding spots, rushing to Rick's side to assist him, picking him up and carrying him towards the infirmary before either Beth or Daryl had the chance to take a step.

Beth's breath was still coming in short little gasps. She felt relieved. She hadn't seen Maggie or Glenn or Carl or Judith in the group of people who'd come to help Rick, but felt confident that they were safe. She also felt pissed off. At Daryl. For reacting the way he did, handling her the way he did, not trusting her judgment the way he did.

She stood fully then and turned towards Daryl, who had fallen back slightly behind her, with the intention of giving him a mouthful, maybe even jabbing a finger into his chest to get her point across; but his solid, larger body was much closer than she'd anticipated. Her body slammed into his, essentially smashing them flush up against one another. His arms and hands quickly came up, pulling her off of him by the hips.

She lifted her head, breathing heavily with rage and embarrassment. He was glaring right back at her, squeezing her hips in a clumsy but rough grip, keeping a small amount of distance between them. He stepped toward her, eyes angry, forcing her to walk backwards in small, stuttered steps until she felt the side of the house behind her.

She gasped as she collided with the siding, though it wasn't painful. It actually felt good. Her bones were singing with the need to move, to hit, to strike, to run and scream and yell. She'd never been a violent person, before. Being on her own had changed that part of her. She wouldn't back down, maybe _couldn't_. Not even from him. Her physical reactions were something that she'd found early on were difficult to control.

"Don't. _Ever_. Do. That. Again." Each word was punctuated with a deep breath he exhaled through gritted teeth. He nearly growled the words in her face, sweat dripping down his own, creating hot trails that ran down his neck and disappeared under the collar of his shirt.

"Or what?" She challenged, willing herself to remain unaffected by Daryl's sudden proximity, the intensity of his touch and his words. Her words had maybe surprised her a little, but she was _pissed_. And he was being a first-rate dick for no reason. Had been for days now, and, okay, maybe not for _no_ reason, but she didn't have time to think on that now. The rage was pent up inside her, like she'd just been _waiting_ for him to start something she'd hopefully be able to finish.

"We don't know who the hell those people were. We don't know what they did, what they could still do. If there're more here. We don't know if all our family's safe. Quit actin' like a goddamned idiot." He said the words calmly and quietly, but she didn't miss the sharp edges that were there to remind her that _this_ wasn't just about the two of them and whatever struggles they were having in their relationship. He wasn't thinking about that, and she shouldn't be either. But could she help what she thought? She was all impulse now, like a string of neurons waiting to be lit up as energy bounced among them from various sources, eliciting a small but fierce range of stunted emotions from her fucked up head.

He released her instantly, leaving her up against the side of the house, breaths coming rapidly, eyes stinging. She wiped at her face with fury, turned the corner of the house and saw Daryl jogging down the road, calling out to Glenn, who appeared unharmed but concerned.

Maggie wasn't far behind them. Beth tilted her head slightly when she noticed that her older sister had baby Judith tucked into her arms, covering and protecting her as she walked quickly towards the infirmary building, one of the few left unburnt.

And as the dust and fog of rage that'd been blinding her cleared from her head, Beth thought, without thinking much at all, how different this image might've been _before_.


	5. no more destination, no more pain

**A/N: _Here's chapter 5, guys! Enjoy. Read & please review...reviews make my heart sing! _**

**_We're not going to find out more about the attackers just yet. But in time, they will be reappearing. No, not exactly the same as the Wolves - more like a mix of different villains inspired from the comics, TV show, and my own warped mind. Few "original characters" appearing here, think of them more as plot devices at this point to get us to the place where Daryl & Beth can interact more, since they've obviously got some issues. I am intentionally writing them both as a bit unstable with their feelings, lots of back and forth right now. But stick with me, it's gonna get better. _**

**_xx_**

 ** _chapter 5: no more destination, no more pain_**

The night was coming quickly. As a group, they'd decided that staying within the breached walls of Alexandria was no longer safe. Some of the original residents of the safe zone were not so agreeable, so they'd stay behind.

The attack had been sudden and without warning, from what Beth had gathered. Four houses on the western side of the community had simultaneously just burst into flames, according to Maggie's account. One of the men on guard duty had been shot by the invading group—Beth later learned that this man had been Deanna's last living child—and the other guard was coerced into opening the gate.

The group had arrived on foot and there'd been maybe fifteen to twenty of them, all armed. Difficult to tell if they were men or women or both as the majority of them had been dressed like the man in black who'd been trying to get information from Rick after he'd been captured trying (and luckily succeeding) to get Judith to safety. Beth had noticed the man's face had been smeared with some kind of paint, black and red and green, as she'd walked by to join up with the rest of the survivors in the infirmary.

When her family and the residents of Alexandria had fought back, they'd been successful in causing the group to retreat—either by killing them or forcing them to flee. Seems there'd been some conflict within her own family on which method was best for getting rid of the attackers.

They hadn't escaped without loss. Several Alexandria residents had been killed within the walls; each of the four houses set on fire had been occupied. A few children had been murdered, and though Carl didn't shed a tear that Beth could see, his demeanor was that of a boy—or a man, she wasn't sure—out for vengeance. The only family member that they'd lost was a priest—Beth hadn't had the chance (or, honestly, the desire) to get to know him. Abraham, the massive red-headed man who spoke as if he were barking orders at a drill team constantly, had been shot; though it wasn't a fatal wound, it'd slow him down for a while.

Beth did her part, tending to her family members' injuries, helping to count heads and make sure everyone was safe. Rick was the picture of exhaustion, but he was never down long. He'd allowed Beth tend to his nose and the scrapes and deep cuts on his face, but he was planning their next move from the moment he regained consciousness.

"Any of ya'll are welcome to come with us," Rick had announced, blood still dripping from the freshly-stitched gash on his cheek. "But I can't keep my family here. 'S not safe. Walls are damaged. Houses burnt to the ground. We're just a blinking target if we stay."

Beth agreed. It was just a happy bonus that she'd no longer have to stay here, in that house that she'd never felt quite right in. That there'd be no more pretending; no more book clubs or parties.

"All of you who's comin, gather your belongings. Now. Take only what you need. Someone gather up some food, medical supplies, baby food." He turned his attention onto Deanna, who'd been weeping in the corner of the infirmary in which they were all still gathered. "We're gonna need some weapons, some ammo." He directed this to her, as if he knew she would stay behind, as if he knew she'd feel she had nothing left to live for. She nodded her head jerkily, swiping at the tears rolling down her face.

"Beth, ya mind just tossin' some of stuff into a bag? I'm gonna make sure we got what we need for Judith. Unless you'd rather do that, I'd be—"

"No." Beth answered her sister sharply, looking briefly at the child in her arms. The child who, before, she'd rocked to sleep night after night, played with day after day. "Maggie, it's fine. I'll get your stuff." She turned on her heel, jogging toward the Rhee house.

xxx

It was completely dark outside when they'd left Alexandria. The entire group was comprised of about 25 people, a mix of her family and the Alexandrians. Others had offered their farewells, some headed in the opposite direction and more than Beth had imagined had stayed behind at the safe zone, unwilling to take their chances outside the only home they'd ever known.

Beth felt nothing towards those who hadn't joined them. She didn't feel sorrow for them and wouldn't wonder what happened to them. It didn't matter. Survival did, and this is how they survived.

Their group headed toward the south, at the suggestion of Daryl and Aaron, who had the most experience and directional sense outside of the community. A few hours in, they'd collectively decided to set up camp to rest for a while. Luckily, Beth had been able to snag the strings of game she and Daryl had collected from their recruiting trip to bring to sustain them all for at least a little while; they'd been left untouched where the three of them had dropped them as they'd approached their former home earlier that day.

As everyone arranged their sleeping quarters as best they could in the dark—they'd brought a flashlight but were using it sparingly in case there were threats afoot in the forest—Beth started to dig a fire pit, a deep one that would be able to contain the light and smoke somewhat.

She was focused solely on her task and didn't hear him approach. He dropped to his knees just to the side of her, helping her dig into the dry earth.

"'M sorry," he muttered, so quietly Beth couldn't be sure that she hadn't imagined it.

She shook her head, brushing him off, or hoping to, kept her gaze on the forming pit, praying to _something_ that she'd get lucky and that starting the fire tonight with the help of a lighter and a bundle of twigs and leaves wouldn't prove to be too difficult.

He put one of his large hands over both of hers, halting her movements. She could feel his eyes on the side of her face, willing her to turn her head and address him, acknowledge him. After all this time. After the weeks he'd spent coming up with new ways to avoid her. After all the effort he'd put into _not_ talking to her if he could help it, apart from the last few days on the recruiting trip, which basically had resulted in one stupid argument and uncomfortable, awkward conversation. Not to mention the way he'd spoken to her during the attack.

She turned her head sharply toward him, couldn't help but notice the shadow of his hair falling down across his forehead, the quick rise and fall of his chest.

"Just stop, Daryl. You don't have to do this." She let her gaze, hidden by the night, roam over him. Down the curve of his face, his jaw, the hard ridges outlining the muscles in his arms and chest, his one large hand still covering both of hers overlying but still motionless upon the earth beneath them.

"Want to," he breathed, like it'd taken the energy equivalent to running a mile in the desert for him to form the simple words and let them escape his mouth.

"Why?" She heard the quiver in her voice.

He stiffened a little beside her. "I'unno," he shrugged, perhaps just as much to himself as to her. "Didn't treat ya so great, last couple'a days. Didn't treat ya great at all today."

Beth decided to humor him, knew he'd been feeling guilty, or eventually would, throughout the course of the day, and she'd been sure to let him know without words that she was still pissed at him.

"Still can't have ya runnin' around like a fuckin' idiot when there's trouble. Can't promise I won't be a jackass if ya decide t' throw yourself to the wolves again like that shit you pulled earlier."

Ah, so it was a quasi-apology. She shrugged to herself, pulled her hands from under his and began to work on sparking the lighter she'd kept in her pocket to ignite what she'd gathered to start the fire.

He wordlessly stood and left her there without another sound.

xxx

When the light of dawn crawled its way slowly across the sky, Rick had called for a gathering to discuss what their next move would be.

"Good chance that the people who attacked us could be out here somewhere. Don't want anyone to feel afraid to go 'head and kill anyone ya see resemblin' them. They were all wearin' black, faces were painted. Don't think, just take 'em out," he let his gaze linger on Morgan, who Beth had learned was the man who'd rescued Rick after the turn. He and Carol had apparently had clashing opinions when it came to ridding Alexandria of the enemy during the attack yesterday, she'd gathered from what Maggie had told her.

"They don't wanna talk to ya. They just want your supplies. They're armed and'll kill ya without a second thought." Rick finished.

"Or shoot ya in the ass!" Abraham said, vigorously nodding his head in agreement with Rick's assessment.

"If I may, sir, I feel we are still that blinkin' target you previously described, Mr. Grimes, if we keep travelin' in such a large mass. While I do agree that, statistically, strength is found in numbers—"

"Yeah, we can't keep on this way." Rick cut off the strange man with the 80s hairstyle, mechanical demeanor, and hillbilly robot voice. Beth thought his name may've been Eugene. She wasn't a fan.

"We're gonna have to split off. Small groups, think three to four people at the most? We're gonna have to, ain't nothin' else we can do. We got maps, took all but a few from the safe zone. We can find a place to meet up, pay attention to the days. Make sure it's somewhere we can all get within the week."

"What, just pick some random place? How is that a strategy?" An Alexandrian piped up, accusation thick in his voice.

"Don' know what else you think we can do. Can't just stay here in one spot. Ain't familiar with the area, don't know if there's other camps nearby. I'd think if someone else knew of anythin', they'd'a said somethin' by now."

"I don't know if splitting up is the best move." Another voice, Beth wasn't sure to whom it belonged.

"Yeah. I think it's a shit idea."

"What the hell do you know about it, anyway? You been inside four walls since this shit went down!"

Within moments, the forest was filled with multiple voices, growing louder, arguing. Rick stood his ground, trying to offer each person a chance to give his or her opinion, but there were simply too many opinions. Beth felt the world start to spin around her as she tried to keep her breathing calm and even and block out the noise surrounding her.

She felt the low-pitched humming at the base of her skull forming, starting to make its way up the back and to the top of her head, the pressure building behind her eyes, her breathing beginning to border on hyperventilation.

 _Fuck it. They all think I'm disabled anyway_ , was her last thought before taking the safety off her handgun and firing a single shot straight up into the sky.

"Shut the _hell_ up, all of you!" She said. Her voice was quiet in comparison to the literal shot she'd fired. She glanced around at the horrified faces staring back at her. Rick stood with his mouth half open, Maggie wore a worried grimace that mirrored Glenn's. Carol's face was mostly emotionless, but Beth would've sworn that she saw a small upturn at one corner of her mouth. Daryl's face was unreadable, because he was simply staring at the ground, shifting his weight back and forth from where he stood a few feet away from her.

The silence stretched out for a few more seconds, and _that_ , too, was also more than Beth could stand.

"All I mean is, what good's it for us to stand here in damn woods, cluckin' at each other like a bunch of damn hens? Nobody can hear anyone anyway. Waste of time if you ask me." She kept her voice as even as she could. "More time for those bastards to catch up with us. And maybe now that I've fired off a noisy gun, it'll lead 'em straight here. That enough motivation to get all o' you to just shut up an' _listen_? If not, move on. Do what ya think's best. Rest of us ain't got the time. Dunno how much time there is left for any of us."

There. Damaged brain and all, she'd said what she felt was right. And it felt good. And the ache in her head was still there, but the intensity of it had dampened.

Rick came back to life, clearing his throat before re-addressing everyone. "A'right. Let's split up. We got 'nough maps here for every group to have one o' their own. Carl, Maggie, Glenn, ya'll come with me and Judith."

Maggie looked to Beth and back to Rick. "I'm stickin' with Beth, Rick." Her voice shook even as she gently bounced Judith in her arms to quiet her.

"I need someone t' keep Judith safe, Maggie. You've been great with her. It'd mean a lot. And Glenn'll be with us—"

"Mags, go with them. I'll be fine," Beth interjected. She couldn't think of anything worse than trekking through the rough terrain and trying to keep what was left of her sanity during what was sure to be a difficult journey with her obviously over-emotional sister. And Beth couldn't care for Judith, couldn't _survive_ if she was trying to care for the little girl who she used to think of as her reason _for_ surviving.

"Beth," Maggie turned to her sister, her eyes slick and glistening in the morning light with unshed tears. "I just got ya back. Can't go through losin' ya again. Or thinkin' I've lost ya, or wondering whe—"

"She's gonna be with me. I'm gonna keep her safe. Get her to where we're goin'." Of course Daryl felt the need to swoop down and be her white, or dark?, knight, declare his mission and purpose of protecting Beth to her sister.

Beth fought the urge to roll her eyes, taking a deep breath and instead going for a light expression, because though she was somewhat irritated with the man for multiple reasons, she was thankful for Daryl's interruption. "See? Daryl'll keep me safe." She tried for a smile that she knew was miles away from reaching her eyes.

"Didn't work out so well last time." Maggie whispered, a tear rolling down her face, her gaze alternating between Beth and Daryl as she spoke the words that she knew would sting no matter how quietly, how sweetly, she spoke them.

Beth felt Daryl's entire body stiffen beside her. She squeezed her eyes shut, stopping any unwelcome memories or thoughts from entering her mind as she felt, could sense, more than heard or saw Daryl start to bolt away from the entire uncomfortable situation.

Beth reacted quickly, reaching her hand down in between her and Daryl, much like a time _before_ that she definitely _wasn't_ thinking about, grasping his palm and all but forcing her fingers to interlock with his.

"Maggie, that wasn't his fault. And we ain't gonna talk about any of that. Understand? We just got back from the recruitin' trip yesterday. Nothin' went wrong, did it? I ain't the same person I was. Ya need to understand that. Were money worth a damn, I'd be willin' to bet he ain't either." She felt him squeeze her hand, hard, but kept her eyes on her sister's, silently begging for her to leave it be. Leave her be. Wasn't sure how she couldn't _know_ how disastrous it really would be if the sisters were to travel together.

Maggie looked between them once more before turning, tears now running freely down the sides of her face, and joining her husband near Rick and Carl, who were still helping divide the group up into smaller groups, trying to assign at least one person who either was familiar with the area or had experience with tracking to each group.

They'd picked a location a few miles northwest of Washington, D.C. to meet up. For reasons unknown, Rick no longer trusted what Beth had discovered was their original destination. Decided it'd be safest to make a wide western circle before heading north to the meet up location. Everyone would have a week, give or take, to arrive. Rick made sure everyone knew their signals, comprised of whistles, gestures, and bird calls, so that everyone could ensure the intentions and safety of one another and anyone else with whom they may cross paths. They'd decided to stagger the groups; some heading directly west, others directly north, and others in between.

Beth and Daryl, who'd been paired with a couple from Alexandria, would camp out another night before heading in a direction of their choosing, since they were both experienced trackers and hunters. They'd all said their goodbyes and confirmed all the plans before the sun was at its highest point in the sky. In the end, Maggie'd given in, hugged Beth tightly before turning to Daryl and apologizing, though Beth didn't miss her quiet warning: "She gets hurt, I'll fucking kill you, Dixon."

xxx

Daryl and Beth had decided to spend the rest of the afternoon hunting while there was enough light in the sky and heat in the air to do so. The couple they'd been paired up with—Ben and Laurel—didn't seem to be too concerned with…well, anything, really. They were young; maybe a few years older than Beth. They'd been at Alexandria since the beginning—or, the end, however one wants to perceive it. They'd sworn they'd stay by the fire pit that remained from the previous night and await the return of the Beth and Daryl, who'd instructed them to fire at anything or anyone that approached them.

The hunters stuck together, not wanting to make any more noise with guns and not anticipating being able to get close enough to any game to use a knife. Beth had divided the rest of their killings from the recruiting trip among the other groups who'd already left, as skilled hunters of any kind were difficult to come by.

Daryl hadn't spoken much; Beth was sure he was still reeling from what her sister had said earlier. He moved through the woods as he always had, like he was born to do it. Beth was good, but she was a like a knock-kneed baby doe trying to learn to walk in comparison to the swift and soundless advances of her counterpart.

They'd found a spot to set up and observe the land for any traces of animals after following some tracks to their end.

Beth sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree, breathing heavily, not fully realizing until then the exhaustion and fatigue that made her skin and muscles feel like they were being pulled taut around her skeleton. Taking a swig of water, she looked up at Daryl, who was standing a few feet away.

"Thanks," she said. Simple. Straightforward. Necessary, in her mind.

He half-turned toward her then, crossbow hanging low in one of his hands, a look of puzzlement wrinkling his features.

"For wha'?" His voice was low, curious. He moved closer and sat beside her, a few inches between them.

She could tell he was keeping some of his senses directed toward their surroundings, listening and looking for any game, but his focus, his energy was all directed toward her in a way that she couldn't do anything but feel, all the way to her pit of her stomach.

"For not letting Maggie get her way. For tellin' her you'd protect me, even if ya don' really wanna be around me anymore."

He did look at her then, jerking his head slightly to remove the hair and expose his face; he looked at her right in her eyes, and it wasn't enough but way too much all at the same time. A flash of a memory zipped through her mind: an image of the hard-ass redneck staring at her (right into her eyes, into her soul) with a similar look in his eyes, one that screamed helplessness and vulnerability and realization and something else she'd never been able to comprehend, across a dining room table filled with pigs' feet and peanut butter and jelly and confessions that were never fully voiced. She closed her eyes, squeezing, trying to stop the thoughts, the memories, from choking the life from her.

"Wasn't for her." He said, keeping his eyes trained on her, bringing his thumb up to rub mindlessly along his jaw.

"I know. It's 'cause o' your guilt that I already told you is a waste of time. Nothin' to feel guilty about, in my eyes, Daryl Dixon. I'm here. Made it." She kept her emotions far away from her voice, from her mind, from her heart.

"Ain't for me, neither, Beth." There it was again, the way he said her name. Made her want to cover herself up and undress at the same time. Push him away and smack his stubborn face and beat her small fists against his chest or grab his hand, his arm, full of strength and hard muscle, and yank him down on top of her, kiss him till he'd just shut up.

"Don't matter why. Just thanking you." Beth whispered, letting her eyes fall briefly to his chapped and weathered lips before returning them to his eyes, smoldering hot liquid blue pools darkened subtly by her words, or maybe his words, or maybe whatever this weird thing was between them.

He stood then, shuffling his feet, looking at some tracks that may or may not have actually been there.

And when he spoke next, his voice was so quiet that, again, she wasn't entirely sure he'd actually spoken them or if she'd imagined them.

"It does matter."


	6. climb on top your ivory tower

**A/N: _Chapter 6 is here! Sorry it's late, this was one of the more difficult chapters for me to write but, oddly, was one of the first passages I began working on and the theme of it is, in part, what inspired me to build the story that I have around it. In other words, I AM VERY NERVOUS TO SHARE IT. Totally understand if anyone has a "WTF?" moment after reading it, questions/comments are welcome, as always! But be assured it's important for the overall story going forward. A bit slow through here, be warned, but filled with Daryl/Beth interaction. Daryl's slowly trying to open up, while Beth is still struggling. Her goal is to survive, because that's what it has to be and what it had to be, before._**

 ** _I love all of your reviews. They seriously make my day. Love the questions and interest in the plot - one guest reviewer was a step ahead of me with this one. Shout out to Jesspanda, I see you and know you've been here from the start and your encouragement has been awesome for me as a scared first-time author._**

 ** _Already got a good part of the next one ready and a few days off of work coming up, hopefully I won't overload you all and scare you away!_**

 ** _xx_**

 **chapter 6: climb on top your ivory tower**

"So, what actually happened to you? I mean, your face. The scars." Laurel, one of the two Alexandrians paired up with Beth and Daryl, was nothing if not blunt. Straight to the point. Beth wasn't particularly offended. Wasn't the first time she'd heard the question, was fairly certain it wouldn't be the last.

The four of them were sitting on the ground surrounding the fire pit from the previous night. Nearly dusk again, Beth had noticed. They were partaking in the squirrels, meat blackened from the fire, that Beth had shot with the crossbow, with Daryl's supervision (and nit-picking, and _not_ overly-constructive commentary), of course.

Beth moved her eyes to the young woman, observing her perfect skin with faint admiration. She was clean, well-fed, pretty even; had dark hair that still held some faux curl, green eyes that held no malice as she asked what was, to be honest, an innocent question. More than anything, Beth was surprised that the other woman hadn't heard the story, or some version of it, as it passed along the grapevine when she'd reached the community and rejoined her family weeks earlier.

Beth kept her gaze on the woman, taking another bite and chewing slowly, trying to come up with the words to tell her that it wasn't something she was willing to talk about. To anyone. Silence was just as well, she figured, and would get the point across. It didn't matter.

Without much thought, she'd lifted a hand to her face, fingering the ridges of the scars formed by the wounds that still didn't seem to be fully healed across her cheek, her forehead. Dipped a finger into the indentation left behind from the bullet that'd ended the life of a girl she used to know; a girl she used to be.

"I mean, ya don't gotta tell me. Just curious. I heard stories from the others, back at home, but I ain't one to believe everythin' I hear."

Beth hadn't really heard her. She was touching her face, her head, focusing on the textures. She closed her eyes and with a deep breath cleared the recesses of her mind. Kept chewing.

Daryl cleared his throat loudly from across the fire. "'Stead of asking stupid fuckin' questions, how bout we come up with a game plan? Saw both o' your asses sleepin' nice and sound last night. So one of ya'lls got first watch. Me an' her," he gestured toward Beth with his hands, still sticky with the residue from his meal, "need'a get some sleep."

He shifted his gaze to Ben, who'd thus far been a silent observer for most of the day and evening. The man seemed scared, timid. Beth had noticed his eyes had widened, a look of apprehension overtaking the entirety of his expressive face.

"Even know what keepin' watch _means_ , kid?" Daryl pressed on, targeting Ben, scoffing when the young man failed to answer. "'Course not. Probably had a nice cozy job ya went to every day. Slept in your nice bed in your nice fuckin' house every night. Lott'a good that did for ya, huh?"

"Daryl," Beth warned, feeling a bit of embarrassment for Ben, knowing all of this had to be intimidating when the only other person in the group with a Y chromosome was Daryl Dixon.

"What?" He retorted, like a child, shifting his eyes to Beth, anger and exhaustion bubbling out of him. "How's this gonna work if we can't depend on them to keep watch so we can sleep? 'Fore we get up and track and hunt and feed 'em and then do it all over again?"

He had a point. A good one, but the picking and projection was unnecessary. It'd just lead to arguments, which would lead to an aching head for Beth. "It's gonna work fine," she responded. "Gonna have to teach 'em a thing or two, but we all had to learn too, in the beginnin'." She turned to Ben. "You got a gun, yeah?"

Ben nodded, same look of apprehension etched across his face. "Yes, ma'am. Ain't had much experience with shootin' one, though." He looked down, embarrassed, subtly shifting his entire body away from Daryl.

"'S'ok," Beth said, leaning toward where he sat a few feet to her right. She held her hand out, gesturing for the gun. She proceeded to show him how to load it, how to remove the safety, how to cock it, how to aim for a kill, which warranted a discussion on the process of killing a walker, adding that should it be a human he saw instead, the same approach applied.

"An' if you aren't sure or ya get nervous, we'll be right here, ya know? It's gonna be okay. We are gonna be okay." Beth said, voice clear with a determination that came out of nowhere. Her words surprised her, and even more surprising was that she actually believed in them.

She could feel Daryl's stare, intense and confusing and questioning and whirling with emotion, from across the fire, where he sat with his knees curled up into his chest, arms hanging down loosely.

xxx

In the end, they'd decided that the safest bet for them all would be for Laurel and Ben to take on first watch together. Ease them in. Daryl had been surprisingly agreeable when Beth had suggested it after they'd finished eating and the last of the light had disappeared from the openings in the trees.

Beth and Daryl sat close to one another, going through their packs, studying the map, not really talking much as the last licking of the flames of the fire burnt out. Both were wary of falling into a sleep that would surely be deep, considering neither of them had slept much in the past several days with the recruiting mission and subsequent disaster that'd greeted them when they'd arrived home.

Ben and Laurel were a few yards away, sitting close to each other with the trunk of a large tree at their backs with a flashlight, which they'd been instructed was to be used for emergencies only, resting in between them. Their conversation had grown softer as the minutes passed and Beth allowed herself to feel some hope that they'd be able to support one another during what she absolutely knew was, at least initially, a very scary job.

Beth dug through her small pack, finding a couple of ratty old blankets she'd taken from her sister's home and spread them out side by side, close to the fire pit.

Daryl seemed tense. He was fidgeting and making small noises, somewhere between a sigh and a grunt, in the back of his throat and reminded Beth of a small child who wouldn't sit still.

He leaned his body backward, still close to Beth, wriggled around and reached into his pocket, pulling out his pack of cigarettes. He crossed his legs underneath him as he took one out and stuck it in his mouth. Wordlessly, he'd jerked the pack slightly toward Beth, silently offering her one of her own. She obliged, picking one out and letting it rest between her lips until he handed her his lighter. She set the end on fire, inhaling deeply at the same time.

Daryl side-eyed her, an unreadable expression on his face, hair hanging in his eyes as always. She crossed her legs underneath her, mirroring his position, their knees lightly touching. She ignored his look. She couldn't even attempt to decipher it right now, couldn't deal with the headaches that formed when she thought too hard on any one thing.

"Was brave o' you." His words were a whisper that reached her heart as much as her ears. "What ya did, with Rick an' that whole group o' fuckin' idiots. Was glad ya did it."

She tilted her head toward him, eyes squinted with questions she couldn't form at the moment.

Instead, she went for something that more closely reflected her thoughts, which had nothing to do with bravery, before she'd taken it upon herself to quiet the mob.

"Blame it on the damaged brain." No humor in her voice, but then, there was no sorrow either, no sadness.

The ghost of a smile danced across his lips. "Nah. Did somethin' like that, before. At the prison. Grabbed a gun, fired it just like that, pulled all our heads outta our asses. Had a little bit o' somethin' in ya. Always have."

She closed her eyes tightly, didn't acknowledge his comment. Didn't allow herself to think back to then, to before. Took a long drag and let the smoke she'd inhaled swirl around in her lungs, her throat, before exhaling slowly, looking down at her hands.

"Ya know ya ain't gotta talk 'bout anythin' with anyone," he continued, and she wondered when he'd become the talkative type. His voice hovered above a whisper, his face inched minutely closer to her own. "Don't gotta tell no dumb bitch that don't even know ya what happened. Don't gotta tell me, neither. But if ya ever wanted to, ya know, I'd—"

"Daryl." She cut him off. Kept her eyes closed, shook her head in swift little motions, praying he'd stop.

"Please." It wasn't a question nor a command. It was a plea, a prayer of his own. His voice cracked just a little, and she wondered somewhere in her mind when the last time was that Daryl Dixon had said "please" to anyone.

"Beth, I ain't forcin' anythin' on ya. Ain't tellin' ya what to do. But I—I just know. What it's like. Not talkin' bout shit that's fuckin' with ya. Feelin' like ain't nobody 'round that really gives a shit. An' all I'm sayin' is that I do."

She marveled a little, if she were being truthful, at the honesty of his words. The sincerity. The _need_ for her to know that he was there. That he gave a shit.

And he did. She knew that. Knew it long ago, back in a time that she wouldn't let herself think about. She'd practically had to beat the hell out of him, verbally if not literally, to get him to admit it, but she knew Daryl Dixon. The type of person he was. Still is.

But she just couldn't. Couldn't do this. Not _this_.

Wordlessly, she tossed her cigarette, smoked to the filter, into the fire pit. Eased the straps of her backpack off of her shoulders. Removed her jacket and then moved her hands to the hem of her shirt. She'd noticed at that moment that it was yellow, her shirt. Not that that mattered.

In one motion, she removed her shirt, lifted it over her head and set it on the ground next to her, leaving her bare on top save for a filthy old bra that was now too large for her but still managed to keep her covered.

She was intent now, decided. She'd give him this piece of the puzzle. Because Daryl, as frustrating and childish and infuriating as he was, hadn't tried to push her. Also hadn't made an effort to talk to her when she'd first returned, about which she'd still felt some pang of sadness or anger or some other emotion that she didn't want to think about, but he'd never asked her anything. He was the only one that hadn't, if she remembered correctly. And despite everything, he still cared. Cared enough to tell her he cared, that he was there. To talk, which was amazing enough itself, or to listen. To share, she'd guessed. Because they weren't so different.

She ignored the choking sound he'd made as he exhaled the last of his cigarette, plucking his lighter off the ground in front of him, sparking it, and letting the flame cast a dim light over her body.

She heard him make another noise, like the sound a grimace or a wince would make if either were actually a _sound_ rather than an _expression_ , but she felt the only pain she was able to feel now in that sound, in his response.

"What the fuck, Beth?" His voice was strained. She felt him leaning closer, letting his mind catch up with all the things his eyes were seeing.

Still wordless, she took another cigarette from the pack he'd placed on the ground, lit it up, and tossed the lighter to the ground. It wouldn't be necessary any more. She took a couple of quick, shallow drags from the filter as he watched, confusion and something like fear evident in his face.

Removing the cigarette from her mouth, lit end blazing and somehow forming a halo of light around the two of them, she pressed the cherry into her abdomen, hearing but not feeling the searing of the layers of flesh.

The smell of burnt hair and skin soon engulfed them, but still she felt nothing. Didn't flinch, didn't make a sound. Knew her face wore a masked expression that was essentially expressionless, as it wasn't the first time she'd done this. Wasn't the worst thing she'd done.

Daryl reacted then, as the smell grew more potent, grabbing the hand in which she held the cigarette and yanking it roughly away from her body.

"The _fuck_ is your problem, girl?" Voice angry, he ripped the cigarette out of her hand and stubbed it out on the ground beside him.

She kept her gaze forward, blinked a few times, wondered if he'd understand soon.

"What the hell was that, Beth?" He asked, growing impatient, angling his head so that he could see her face more clearly.

She shook her head, once, slowly, maybe shrugged a shoulder. No sadness, no embarrassment. Just acceptance. Looked down at herself, connected the scars dotting her front with an imaginary line as she often had. They weren't all self-inflicted. Some she hadn't even known about. She knew her back looked the same, probably worse.

"Couldn't you—" Daryl began but stopped himself sharply, the ideas and accusations and disbelief and _anger_ appearing to roll around in his head, on his tongue. "Beth. Can you not feel anythin'?"

Loaded question, a question she would have laughed at had he been asking her, _before._ A question she'd actually asked him, in some version or another, once upon a time—though she wouldn't let herself think about that or then or how scared and pissed off she'd felt when she'd asked it, demanded an answer.

Of course she felt. Too much. Always had. One thing that hadn't changed from _before_. She felt what others couldn't feel, felt it _for_ them if she needed to.

She reached her hand up, tentatively but without fear, and touched the side of his face. She felt the temperature of his skin, hot against her hand. Took one of his hands, guided it to run lightly up the bare skin on the side of her abdomen, intentionally tickling herself with his fingertips, which didn't cause her to laugh or twist and turn and wriggle but instead elicited a reflexive tremble that visibly rippled under his touch. He watched with awe, following the path of her hand on his but, as soon as she released it, snatched his hand back toward his body as if he'd been burnt.

She reached around behind her, dug through her pack again, found her trusty steak knife. Opened one of her palms and stuck the tip of the blade straight down, hard, drawing a dot of blood within moments; stared directly at his face, let him see her reaction—which was, in fact, none at all. Hoped it would illustrate the words she couldn't yet bring herself to say.

He was entranced, eyes lowering to take it all in, to take her—bare in front him, exposed physically and emotionally—in, before rising slowly to again study her hand. She could see the wheels of his mind turning, replaying the scenes, interpreting them, deciding what they meant. What this meant.

He lifted his eyes to hers, squinting, biting his lip a little in a way that indicated he was thinking, in a way that meant, maybe now, he understood. He reached one hand out to cover hers, which was now harboring a small pool of blood, grabbed his handkerchief from his pocket with his other, placing it in the center of her palm and pushing down hard to slow the blood flow.

Seeing her blood on his fingers, his wrist—she knew within her that it wasn't entirely true that she couldn't feel pain. Her brain was now simply more selective with the type of pain she could feel. And at that moment, she felt sorry for herself for the first time since before, wishing like hell to take back the physical pain in return for a diminished number or absence of emotional pain receptors in her stupid, fucked up head. In most cases, physical pain went away, but she wasn't sure she'd be able to rid herself of the pain she felt inside of her right now. The pain that came from all the things she'd seen and done and longed for; all of her hopes and dreams and deepest fears punctuated by the culmination of his silent understanding, violent acceptance, unspoken vow of protection, and unshed tears that he'd never let her see.

Dxxx

Beth awoke when dawn was settling into the woods, when a crisp fog that had no discernible origin had blanketed the earth. Daryl was nearby, sitting with his back to her, head bent down. She heard footsteps approaching and looked up to see Ben and Laurel, who were sporting grins of success.

"Mornin', sleepy heads," Ben greeted them, rolling his shoulders back and forth with a celebratory look on his face, as if he'd just returned from a warzone.

Beth gave the Alexandrians a small smile, sitting up and stretching her arms out above her head, blinking a few times to focus.

"So, uh," Laurel spoke this time. "What do we do now? Switch places for a few hours? Have some breakfast?"

Daryl whipped around, anger apparent on his face. " _Now_ , we fuckin' start _walkin'_." He reached into his pack, tossing a can of peaches at the pair without looking directly at them, or at Beth for that matter. "There's your goddamn breakfast."

He stood up in one swift movement, gathered up his pack and crossbow, and started walking to the west.

Ben and Laurel looked at Beth expectantly as she packed up the blankets and donned her jacket. "He's rough 'round the edges. But if anyone's gonna get us back together with our family, 's gonna be him." She motioned with her hand, indicating for them to follow her.

"Just a word of advice, though. Knock it off with all the questions."

xxx

 _ **A/N Part 2: Watch out, Beth, your faith and hope and all-around goodness is showing...and Daryl can be such an ass, no? It'd be so hard to date such a moody man, but damn I'd try.**_

 _ **Please let me know what you think. Legit shaking as I submit this.**_


	7. leave you like they left me here

**A/N: _HAPPY HALLOWEEN to anyone out there still reading. My treat to you is this chapter, which may have a few tricks up its sleeve. This thing is a monster, but I couldn't find a point that felt right to me to break it into multiple parts. Hopefully, that doesn't scare anyone away (if so, leave me a review and let me know, I aim to please!)._**

 ** _Recap: Daryl has been hit with the knowledge that Beth is unable to feel_ _physical pain. Here, we see them continue their journey to meet up with Rick & Team Family. To clear up any questions, all of her other senses are fine. She can feel light touch, pressure, temperature, etc. but it's specifically the pain receptors that were damaged. She has scars and marks all over her as a result, because it's not something she fully understood and realized right after the injury. Not to get personal, but I am a medical professional and this story was in part inspired after I Iorked with someone who'd had a traumatic brain injury and demonstrated similar deficits. It fascinated me, still does.. Motorically, he was fine. Cognitively, a little slow but overall fine though perhaps a little overly-emotional, a little impulsive (see any of that here? :)). It was his sensation that was primarily affected, and I think it's interesting to explore how something like that could shape the way our characters behave in a post-apocalyptic world that is inevitably painful, in all the ways that painful can be.  
_**

 ** _Would love to hear what you think. Next up, the group continues their journey, experiencing moments of peace and moments of despair along the way. It's about to get crazy._**

 ** _Okay, sorry for the (always) enormously long notes. Enjoy and have a safe evening to anyone celebrating halloween!_**

 **chapter 7: leave you like they left me here  
**

Though the colors of the leaves, shortened hours of daylight, and cool nights fully indicated the presence of autumn, the thick, sweltering heat that crept along, unwavering, during the daylight hours was taking its toll on the four travelers. The insects didn't shy away despite the chill of the evening and the hot sun beat down, insistent and merciless through every crack in the canopy of trees.

It was the second day of their travel. Beth had been careful to count each sunset and sunrise in order to keep a tab on the number of days, as Rick had instructed all of the groups to do when they'd parted ways.

They hadn't developed much of a routine to things. Stopped when they needed to. Veered off the path when they'd caught sight of animal tracks or saw signs indicating a source of water nearby. Traveled from dawn till dusk, walking at varying paces. Stopping each night when it was too dark to safely continue on as they were was the only bit of routine they'd established.

Laurel and Ben had been talkative, talked enough for the four of them, really. Beth didn't mind, but she was surprised they'd kept at it since Daryl had been wearing a scowl for the past 2 days; Beth was starting to worry that the expression would permanently take up residence on his face.

Daryl and Beth led the way. Daryl had reverted to not speaking to Beth unless it related to the hike or the map or hunting or when they should stop or snarky, mumbled remarks about their travel companions. He'd barely looked at her since the night she'd told him, without really telling him, about the major deficit with which her brain injury had left her. Beth figured he needed time. To process, to cope, to digest it all and figure out what to say, if anything needed to be said at all.

They still had the same goal. Nothing there had changed. It was just a complication, and in the heat of the moment, she'd decided to let him see it for what it was.

It didn't bother her much, now. It'd been a special circle of hell to discover it, to learn to live with it, to learn to live _despite_ it, _before_. Now it was just something of which she was aware, just a quirk, just an anomaly that, for her, meant she had to be more cautious, even when her mind urged her to do things on impulse. Because the mixture of adrenaline and a lack of pain sensation was a dangerous combination, and she'd learned that several times over.

Beth tried to decide what it might mean to Daryl. Likely, she'd thought, that to him it'd be just one more thing on his long list of duties, things that he had to do or watch or consider to keep all of his family members alive.

"I am sweating my ass off, you guys. Next creek, can we take a break or a group bath or somethin'?" Ben asked, breaking up the scattered thoughts inside Beth's mind. Ever since his first (and only, thus far) successful stint on watch duty, his personality had flipped like a light switch. He talked as much as, if not more than, Laurel. He'd periodically take his gun out and whip it around like a cowboy in an old-fashioned western movie, commanding imaginary villains to "stop _right_ there, wise guy". He'd told them that he and Laurel had grown up together in Alexandria. They were neighbors and friends as children but no longer "hung out" as soon as they hit high school due to some sort of social hierarchy that sounded foreign and ancient to Beth, who'd winced at his mention of that kind of past, a time so long ago that it had no name in her mind.

"I second that," Laurel piped up, amused, "and he really fuckin' stinks."

Daryl said nothing and Beth swiped at her sweaty face, listening almost wistfully as the two laughed together and at each other and carried on their meaningless conversation.

xxx

The sun was just beginning to start its descent behind them when, as luck would have it, they'd stumbled upon a narrow creek at the base of a _monster_ of a hill.

They'd decided to set up camp for the evening nearby. After setting down their belongings, they all went over to the creek to drink and splash their faces before the sweat and dirt and filth dried and became just another layer on top of their skin when the coolness of the night arrived.

Ben and Laurel had stripped down to their undermost garments and gone right into the water, which was shallow and dirty but damp and refreshing. Beth leaned over the bank, scooped handfuls into her mouth, onto her face, over her arms, into her hair.

She saw the shadow of him approaching in the reflection of the water's surface before she'd heard him speak.

"Don't even think of gettin' in there." Daryl kept his voice low, probably so Ben and Laurel, who were splashing loudly downstream, wouldn't hear.

Okay, so he was in _some kind_ of mood. At least he was talking.

Beth turned around to face him, still on her knees, craning her body and extending her neck to look up at him, her eyes squinting against the sun, which was still making its way, leisurely, underneath the horizon for the night.

"Why the hell not?" She asked, though she'd really had no intention of jumping in the murky water despite the appeal of feeling the slow current surround her body, cleansing and soothing her in at least some ways.

He crouched down then, almost level with her, resting his weight on his heels and looking right into her eyes for the first time in days.

"Think you know why."

Again, the urge to slap him was never far out of her reach.

"You always pull that shit. Just _say_ it. What the hell're you always so 'fraid of?" She couldn't discern between the anger and frustration and raw sting of exposure she felt as she fought against the power of her own body to instinctively pull her into a cower underneath the scrutiny of his wild eyes that'd always been able to see more than anyone else knew.

"Told you," he said through gritted teeth, lowering his eyes, picking nonchalantly at the ground. "Ain't afraid of nothin'."

 _Bullshit_ , her brain screamed, the word bouncing from her functioning lobes to the neurons controlling her vocal cords, and she'd just about _had it_ with the hot-and-cold, back-and-forth shit he'd been playing at these last few days.

"Really?" She challenged. "You're really not afraid of nothin'?" She was angry. She couldn't regulate this part, her impulses taking over the control she had over her body when the emotions became too much.

She stood at the same time he did. His face was twisted up in a grimace but he wasn't responding, which only further stoked the fire in her belly, unfurling its flames rapidly. Her hands went to the belt holding her jeans in place and she unbuckled it quickly, making quick work of the button and zipper, angrily kicking her boots off and sliding her jeans down her slim hips and legs, which she already knew were covered in gashes and bug bites and rashes that she hadn't been able to feel.

She stepped out of them, carefully, checking the ground for any objects that could puncture her now-bare feet, the skin and tissue of which now lacked the ability to differentiate between the harmless pressure of the ground and the piercing of a sharp piece of wood or glass or debris. Repeating her actions from a few nights ago, she whipped off her jacket and yanked her shirt up over her head, not caring, seriously _not caring,_ how horrifying she's sure she looked.

Daryl, of course, just stood there, hands fisted at his sides, eyes glued to her face, jaw clenched tight.

Without a second glance or another word, she stepped off of the short bank of the creek, crashing into the shallow water, and let herself revel in the _freezing fucking cold_ of it all, dipping her head underneath the surface and just listening to the slow, lazy current rush by her ears for a few moments.

She felt a ripple in the water a few feet away as she surfaced and took a deep breath, willing herself not to shudder. She could sense the pressure of the river rocks and the sediment under her feet. The water only came up to her waist but she kept her body dipped down, out of sight.

She shook her head her a little, water and still-filthy hair cascading down her back, soothing her heated skin. Within a few moments, she saw Daryl's head pop out of the water. Daryl. The idiot was still fully clothed, even knowing that another chilly night would soon be upon them. She watched him as he shook his head, flinging droplets of water all around his form like a dog in a bathtub.

He swam—or walked quickly, Beth couldn't tell—toward her and she almost, _almost_ , laughed at the sight of the somehow deepening scowl on his face.

"Get your ass outta the water, Greene. Now." He placed his hands on her shoulders, and she noticed his touch, while firm, wasn't as rough as it had been the day of the attack on Alexandria. Wondered if it had anything to do with what she'd revealed, if he was worried, or god forbid _afraid_ of accidentally hurting her.

"You're really fuckin' bossy, ya know that, _Mr. Dixon_?" She wasn't trying to be playful or flirtatious or anything like that. She was simply annoyed and didn't want to be told what to do.

He moved closer, releasing her shoulders as his upper body emerged fully out of the water, which was glistening off the muscles of his bare arms and immediately made Beth feel overheated all over again.

"I will pick your ass up an' carry you outta here," he threatened, voice quiet.

"What's the big deal, Daryl? It's a shallow creek in the goddamned forest. Ain't no sharks gonna bite me."

He made a humorless noise in the back of his throat. "Yea, no sharks. But know what else could bite ya? Huh? A walker. A poisonous bug. A jagged rock, cut your foot up real good an' after all you been through, ya really wanna die by an infection caused by a dirty rock cuz you decided to act like a rebellin' li'l shit? Ain't how it's gonna be—"

"Any of that could happen, anyway, Daryl! Don't you get it? I can be careful. I _am_ careful. I can stay away from sharp objects an' thorns and animal bites and insects and walkers and fires and _humans_ the best I can, but I can't _stop_ anythin' that's gonna happen, Daryl. And neither can you." Her voice was gentler now, understanding that this is how he expressed himself. By getting angry and spitting out the worst case scenario, always, hoping to scare her into listening to him.

They were both breathing heavily, breath becoming a faint cloudy haze, both standing in the water, bodies close. He nodded his head, eyes lowered to the water.

"Might be right," he said, quietly. "But we can prevent some of it from happenin'. We can have some rules t' follow. I'd make one of 'em right now. No jumpin' in cold ass water when 's nearly dark. Hypothermia ain't no way to go. Neither's any o' that other shit."

"How 'bout we tack on an addendum? If, by chance, we _do_ jump in cold ass water when 's nearly dark, we don't do it while wearin' several layers of clothes, like a _jackass_." He blinked at her, not expressing any amusement but no longer growling at her.

A small smile crept up before she could stop it as she jerked her head backwards to indicate Ben and Laurel. "Do we share our rules with them?"

Daryl glanced past her shoulders. "Nah. Just for us. This ain't no new scientific study. Pretty sure hypothermia could'a killed any of us 'fore the world turned to shit. They don' know it by now, then 's on them."

She smiled an _almost_ -genuine smile then, knowing with some ferocity that if any trouble'd come for the two splashing innocents behind them, Daryl would undoubtedly do what he could to save them.

They swam over to the edge of the bank then, Beth hoisting herself out backward so she was sitting on the bank with her feet still dangling in the water. She twisted to grab her clothes that she'd left in an angry pile nearby when Daryl swam up to her, stopping in between her legs, probably resting on his knees judging by his stature.

She felt a flush and a pooling of heat work its way from her scalp to her chest to her belly and further south as he slowly and methodically lifted one of her legs up out of the water, rested it on his shoulder. Looked to her face briefly and she nodded, granting him unspoken permission. He was inspecting it, inspecting her. Bottom of her foot, back of her legs, outside of her thigh. He just barely ran his rough, calloused fingers over the ridges of scars overlying the surface of her skin. When he was satisfied, he repeated the same with her other leg. Pushed himself up into standing, towering over her as she sat, even as he was still standing in the water.

A look of uncertainty flashed across his face. She wanted to nod, to open her mouth and tell him it was okay, he could look. He could look and touch and trace and memorize her scars, every last one of them, the way that she'd done, if it'd make him feel better. If it'd stabilize his mood. The more she thought on it, the more she felt like maybe it'd dampen some kind of feeling inside of her, too.

He kept his eyes on hers as he lifted a hand up toward her face, flipped it around and brushed his knuckles lightly over the scars covering her face, the ones that he knew were there. His index finger, barely touching, trailed down to her collarbone to another shallow indentation there. She wasn't sure the cause of it. The one at the top of the rounded swell of her breast, where teeth marks that didn't come from the undead permanently branded her skin.

His breathing had become more like strangled inhales and shaky exhales that didn't seem to be quite under his control as he continued, now placing each of his big hands on either side of her middle, nearly able to encircle her entire waist with his hands alone.

His thumbs stroked the scars and bites and claw marks, some animal, most human. But she didn't tell him any of that. Didn't trust her voice right now.

Her tongue darted out as she licked her lips, seeing that the other two members of their group were oblivious to anything as they continued their swimming and horseplay and flirtation in the water downstream.

Daryl's eyes were back on her face and she couldn't begin to read the emotion there. It was like an apology and a promise and an urgency that'd she'd never have imagined could come together to create something so beautiful.

He leaned his forehead lightly, so lightly, against her chest, wrapped his arms around her, fingers feathering over the scars on her back. And as they exhaled in unison, it was like all the weight had been lifted from her shoulders for the moment.

xxx

The next day, things were easier, at least between Daryl and Beth. Laurel and Ben had taken to walking a bit further behind, and maybe Beth couldn't sense pain, but she sure as hell hadn't lost her sense of hearing, and by the time the two of them had stopped for their third sloppy make-out session against a tree, she'd about lost it and shot them herself.

They'd nearly made it to the peak of the hill and it was still fairly early, though Beth could already tell that her steps were becoming uneven, her breathing inefficient, her muscles heavy with fatigue.

"Gonna have to take a break at the top," Beth, running dangerously low on energy and oxygen, told Daryl in a breathless voice. Daryl was hiking a bit in front of her, sweat running down the muscles of his arms as he climbed. The other two were down below somewhere, their giggles and talking drifting up and echoing across the forest.

Daryl stopped for a moment, waiting on Beth to catch up with him. Without a word, he grasped her hand firmly in his, interlocking their fingers and transferring some of the heavy weight she was feeling deep in her bones and muscles onto himself.

"Little further. C'mon." She forced herself to nod at his form of encouragement, though even her lungs felt like they could buckle under the exertion at this point. She let herself feel the rippling wave of relief knowing that, soon, they could rest.

xxx

Just as the very top of the hill came into view, a shrill scream echoed from below, bouncing off of the trees and into their ears. Daryl and Beth stopped in their tracks instantly, their hands coming undone as Beth automatically made for her gun and Daryl's arms came behind him to ready his crossbow.

"Shit! Oh my—oh god, oh no—oh please! _LAUREL_!" The sound of a gun firing forced them into action, as they started to quickly but carefully descend the hill to reach their endangered group members.

To her right, Beth heard the unmistakable gurgling and snarling of a walker approaching her; if she were on solid ground, she'd have kept pushing forward, but because she was trying to scale down the massive hill with the force of deceleration burning against her hamstrings to avoid falling on her ass and killing herself, she knew she'd have to address it. She stopped and turned to face it head on, noticed its shock of white hair standing out against the yellowing, decayed skin that housed jaws that were opening and clamping down, aimlessly, in search of its meal. She stuck a knife upward through its jaw, reclaimed her weapon swiftly and kept moving as the corpse of a corpse hit the ground. She didn't stop long enough to see if more were coming from that direction.

She'd vaguely heard the repetitive splitting of air as Daryl fired his crossbow, nailing a few of the walkers comprising the horde that was beginning to circle and corner Ben, who was backed up against a tree about halfway down the hill.

"Ben! Shoot them in the head!" Beth yelled, panic and bile rising in her throat as she continued taking out the walkers crossing her path, still making her way to him.

She could just see his shaking hands as he aimed, and, though he managed to hit a few of them, he was shooting way too widely, merely grazing most of his intended targets.

Beth and Daryl finally reached him and the growing pack of the undead closing in on him. They used their knives to finish off the horde, fighting back-to-back as walker after walker came at them. 20 or so of them lay dead in a circle on the ground surrounding the three of them, and Beth quickly checked Ben over for bites or scratches as he trembled, eyes wide with fear, silent sobs and shudders wracking through his lean frame.

Silence came on with a sudden force, and Beth turned away from Ben to look for the girl.

She didn't have to look long. Laurel was face-up a few feet away, blood spurting from her neck where she'd been bitten, quiet gasping noises and thick blood erupting from her mouth as she convulsed, beautiful skin now marred with gashes from the unforgiving teeth of the earth's new majority population.

"Oh my god." Ben reanimated in his own way, ran over to Laurel's side and dropped to his knees, pushing his hands up against the wound on her neck. "Oh my god. What do we do? Do we have any medical supplies? Beth, can you stitch it? I saw you stitchin' up Rick, back home. We gotta get her stitched up 'fore we keep movin'." His voice was shaking, desperate, as he whispered comforting words to his friend.

Beth remained silent, only shaking her head slowly when Ben eventually craned his neck up to look at her. "Stitches can't do anythin' for her, Ben." She said quietly, not realizing that he'd been unaware of this particular part of the way that the world was now.

"What the hell do you mean? She's got a gapin' fuckin' hole in her neck. We don't stitch it up, close it somehow, she's—she's gonna bleed to death an'—"

"She's bit. Ain't no cure for it, man. She'd turn even if we had a fuckin' surgeon with us. Ya get bit, you're done for. Unless it's on a limb, sometimes ya can cut it off, but man, there's nothin' she can do. Nothin' we can do, 'cept keep her from turnin'." Daryl spoke softly, a hint of sadness or understanding edging his words.

Laurel had stopped moving. Beth took her knife out of its holster and drove it through her head, trying to ignore the screams of Ben beside her.

xxx

The three of them had moved on after giving Ben a brief chance to say goodbye to Laurel. Beth covered the girl as best she could with leaves and dirt, a decent and loud part of her insistent upon the concept of time and how much of it she was _wasting,_ while another argued with a soft tone that this was a girl she knew, and she'd died, and she deserved to be respected.

She wrapped an arm around Ben, helping him continue on, offering soft words of reassurance that she knew wouldn't do a damn bit of good. Ben cried, shouted how unfair all of it was. And they knew.

They made it to the other side of the hill, descending it carefully and quietly and went another mile or so before deciding to take a break, to let Ben rest. To let them all rest. Beth built a small fire, pulled out her blankets and covered the young man, sat beside him until he finally drifted off into what appeared to be an uneasy sleep. His young face looked pained, even in the throes of sleep, dark brows furrowed and drawn in, creating wrinkles of worry and despair.

Daryl was a few yards away sitting with his back against a tree, picking at the leaves on the ground. As Beth approached him, he stood, thumb immediately going to his mouth, tracing his lower lip and the stubble underneath.

"He'll be okay." Beth wasn't sure which of the two needed to hear it. "He's sleepin'. Best if you rested too, Daryl."

It would've been Beth's night for watch, though the sun was still an hour or two from setting.

He didn't say anything. Just stepped closer to Beth, slowly, lifted his hands and cupped her face on either side when he reached her. She wondered when he'd become so—so _just okay_ with physical touch, though the voice in the back of her damaged head reminded her that he'd been working toward being _okay_ with touching _her_ , before.

"Anythin' get to you? Hurt you?" His voice was quiet, almost shy in the way he removed his eyes from hers as he asked.

She'd checked herself for any new injuries, new marks or bumps, feeling with her fingers, as she was accustomed to doing after any type of physical conflict.

She shook her head. "'M fine."

He brought his eyes back up to hers, nodded and exhaled what she could only imagine was a breath containing all the fear and tension he'd been holding back before finding the words to ask her if she was okay.

"I'm used to it." She said the words without really thinking on them. Wanted to reassure him. Didn't want him to see her and her impairment as just another liability, just another job for him to take care of. "Always check myself, after."

He nodded again, biting his lip again, averting his eyes from her face.

She couldn't read his face or his mind. It was causing the itch of anxiety to crawl up her spine. "I know it was kind'a—kind'a weird, the way I—uh, told you. 'Bout all of this. An' I'm sorry 'bout that. If it made ya uncomfortable. But I think it'd make us weaker, if ya didn't know. Nobody else does."

His eyes returned to hers, and again his breathing grew heavy, deep. "Ain't nothin' to apologize for. Glad ya told me. We're—you're just. Just gon' have to be more careful, now."

She narrowed her eyes at him, wishing he could just look inside her brain, sift through the memories she refused to voice, and see all that she'd gone through. All that she'd done before and since discovering this new thing about herself, her new self. That he could look into her eyes and see it, reel by reel, a horror film where the young, stupid girl doesn't get murdered by any of the people out to get her and instead comes out the other side, stronger in so many different ways.

"Can't have it distractin' ya, though, Daryl. That was nothin', that group of walkers. You know it and so do I. Gonna run into more, maybe even things more dangerous than that. If all you're doin' is thinkin' about me, wonderin' if somethin' that I can't even feel has happened, you're gonna get yourself hurt." She'd forced a hint of irritation into her words, wanting him to recognize the line that they were walking. Yes, it was a complication. A complication that'd become nothing but more complicated if he let it consume him and distract him during the inevitable battles they'd face, sooner or later, in this hard and unapologetic world.

"Not gonna let anythin' happen to you, Beth."

"And I ain't gonna let anythin' happen to myself, if I can help it. And if I can't, then it's just how it is. Just promise me you'll keep fightin', keep focusin' on whatever it is we gotta do to get back to our family."

He fidgeted a little, again reminding her of a child who'd received instructions, of which he wasn't particularly fond, from a figure of authority. Instructions he'd do anything to _not_ follow even if, in the end, he'd known he always would.

He turned away from her then, returning to his original position, his back to the trunk of a tree, sliding down to sit on the ground underneath.

"Ain't gotta worry 'bout that. We're gonna get there." His words were quiet, matter-of-fact as he let his head roll in her direction, eyes locking on hers.


	8. we'll crucify the insincere tonight

**_A/N: Damnit, I suck! I was hoping to have this edited and up BEFORE the show tonight...if only real life weren't, you know, a thing. I'm gonna be honest, this chapter and the three characters (directly) involved in it fought me to the bitter end. Even my sweet Beth. At this point, these characters are just doing what they want. I'm the puppet, just sitting here typing away whatever it is they demand of me. This is another chapter that I've had planned since before I ever made the conscious decision to publish this thing._**

 ** _We're going to get a little bit of Daryl's perspective, in some form, in this chapter. It's necessary for this story to progress and, though I hadn't originally planned on this chapter and its events happening at this very moment, after considering it and staring at it like a weirdo FOR WAY LONGER THAN NORMAL, both individually and in the grand scheme of the story I want to tell, it had to be now._**

 ** _Please, please. Tell me what you think. And actually, I have a question for you...yes, YOU. Would it improve the story for you if there was some insight into what was going on with the other characters in the story? My original plan was to progress with the story fully in Beth's POV. I have written some snippets, or outtakes, that I think I could manage to include that would provide some details about the other characters (as in our faves of course, Rick/Team Family). If it'd make the story more enjoyable or captivating or well-rounded or you're just getting sick of the style, I am NOT against experimenting a bit. However, either way I ultimately choose to proceed, rest assured that we WILL see the others again and get some insight into what their experiences have been like._**

 ** _Again, we're slowing down a bit here. Hope the rapidly changing pace isn't giving anyone motion sickness; it's all for the bigger story ("the greater good" as Dawn (that A-HOLE!) would say)._**

 ** _Give me some feedback, please know I value it SO much, as I'm still learning and trying out different things and if you're still reading: THANK YOU, I LOVE YOU.  
_**

 ** _xx_**

 **chapter 8: we'll crucify the insincere tonight  
**

The days, as well as the group, now reduced to a trio, continued moving forward. Beth's mind thought distantly about the ruthless nature of the world and the concept of time, never stopping; all emotions and actions and feelings had an expiration date. Time couldn't be manipulated, and it wasn't always a bad thing or a good thing and probably, she'd thought, not a _thing_ at all to anyone with a normally-functioning brain.

The last leg of their journey steered them to the north, and Beth guessed they'd be arriving to the meet up location sometime in the next 2 days, give or take.

Beth had used the opportunity, the tragedy, of Laurel's death to clue Ben in on a few things she felt were important for anyone who existed in this world, the way it was now and would be for the indefinite future, to know.

As expected, his dark eyes had widened when she'd told him that they were all infected; that they'd all reanimate upon dying, save for those killed by a head injury. She'd noticed his eyes lingering over the scars on her face and head when she'd told him that part, could all but feel his deliberation of the questions he'd know better than to ask.

All things considered, he'd accepted the information with a relative calm, likely filing it away to process later, and he'd thanked Beth for telling him.

"I woke up thinking you guys'd just—just decided that she couldn't be saved. Would slow us down. Put her down, like a dog." Ben had admitted after realizing the necessity of putting a knife through Laurel's skull.

"Nah, put her down so she wouldn't turn in to one of them same fuckin' things that killed her," Daryl said, not looking at either of his companions. Ben was walking in between Daryl and Beth, as the more experienced pair had sort of taken to shielding the young man, keeping him close by and within their lines of sight, at least for a while, as they were still uncertain of his mental and emotional stability after the loss of Laurel.

"Never lost anyone. Since the—the turn, or whatever, I mean. Not like this." Ben's voice was broken, face reddened by the effort of controlling the moisture now gathering in his eyes as he spoke.

Beth stiffened a little beside him, knowing her mind well enough to realize that she needed to brace herself, physically and mentally, against the onslaught of memories and thoughts that would inevitably threaten to force their way inside in response to his words.

"Guess I—I'll just get used to it. Right? Like ya'll have. I'll get good at doin' things. Useful things. Huntin' and whatnot. Maybe ya'll can teach me. Learn how to survive, protect myself and whoever's left of my family." Ben voiced his fears and plans and hopes all in the same breath, and had it been _before_ , Beth may have just smiled at the young man and offered her own words of encouragement. Instead, she kept her eyes forward and continued walking.

xxx

They'd run into a few small groups of walkers in the days since Laurel's demise. Ben had frozen in space and time during the first attack, and even Daryl hadn't offered a snide remark after he and Beth took on the small horde themselves. Beth didn't fault him, but when they came upon the next group of the undead, she'd handed him her knife with a slight nod of encouragement and he'd managed to kill two of them while Daryl took out the rest. Appearing dazed afterward, Ben had proceeded to methodically wipe Beth's knife down before returning it to her without a word.

They set up camp for the night in a small clearing of the forest, which never seemed to change much despite the number of miles they traveled. Beth supposed maybe the trees were of different species, the subtly changing terrains and vegetation and levels of elevation more suitable for sustaining different kinds of life forms. It was too bad that nature and the world hadn't yet evolved enough to create a certain environment or climate or altitude or just some _place_ that was incompatible with the undead. For now, they were still surviving based on the theories and principles brought forth by Darwin, and there wasn't anything that could be done about it, so to Beth, it wasn't worth thinking much about.

It was Daryl's night to keep watch. Beth was profoundly deprived of sleep, she'd felt the exhaustion colliding with and invading her body and her mind with the force of a freight train (back when there were such things). She felt as if she were in a fog as she spread the two blankets out on the ground near the fire pit.

Ben and Daryl were sitting on the ground near the fire pit, not far from where Beth had arranged her and Ben's sleeping quarters. Beth decided to skip any pleasantries and just lie down, not caring if her companions would be disturbed or disrupted by whatever sounds she might make in her sleep. She was fucking _exhausted_. And, though she wasn't often quite so lucky, she quickly felt the last thinning shreds of her consciousness drifting away, one by one.

Unlike most other nights, Beth dreamed. A tornado of color and emotion and feeling bloomed in her head as she slept. She was aware that she was dreaming but couldn't escape it, as much as she wanted to, even before it had really even begun. Her daddy's face and hair appeared and his laugh floated in the air and she could smell her momma's cooking, knew instantly that the aroma was that of her most favorite desserts, peach pie and oatmeal cookies. Images and light flashed in front of her, somehow too colorful, too bright, as she walked down the halls of her home. She was greeted by Shawn and Maggie, Patricia and Otis, and she couldn't figure how to make herself say anything back to them, didn't know how to tell them she loved them and she was sorry and she missed them, but they all wore smiles and exuded the essence of life and love. She made her way up the stairs to her bedroom, pushing the door open slowly, already knowing what she'd see: the pale pinks and baby blues and trinkets she'd found at the rummage sales she'd loved going to with her momma, Jimmy's class ring shone brightly on her vanity.

Without meaning to, and specifically feeling the desire to _not_ do so, she stepped forward, floating, rather than walking, right up to the full-sized mirror overlying the distressed wood of her closet door. She studied her reflection and her breath caught tightly in her chest. Her hair was long and golden and flowing and beautiful, a single messy braid effortlessly placed off to one side. Her skin was smooth and pale and luminous and flawless. No scars. No dirt under her fingernails, which she noticed were painted. No filth or dirt covering her body; in fact, she was wearing a short sundress that revealed her slim legs, creamy and smooth.

She reached her hand up to her own face, because even though this was a dream, she wanted to know, to remember what that felt like. She ran her trembling hand lightly down her face, tried to memorize the feeling of unharmed skin. The skin of a girl whose biggest problems revolved around homework and homecoming dresses and how she was going to pull off sneaking out of her house to go down to the ravine with her friends. She closed her eyes and let herself _feel_ it, all of it; the weightlessness and happiness, all of which were foreign to her now yet somehow familiar, maybe within reach.

She opened her eyes again and all fragile pretenses of peace and calm and happiness were forgotten as she watched her reflection, the mirror image of herself, toying with a shard of glass. Beth glanced down at her own hands which, naturally, were empty. Mirror Beth continued playing with the piece of glass, rolling it around in her hands this way and that like it were the most fascinating object she'd seen, and Beth wasn't certain, but she could've sworn that her reflection was smiling, maybe even laughing, as she suddenly used the piece of glass to start slicing, cutting deep gashes across the flesh of her face, her neck, her chest, her legs. Mirror Beth reared back her arm holding the piece of glass, theatrically fluttering her eyelashes before bringing it down _hard_ , piercing into her own abdomen, laughing sweetly even as blood began to run out of her mouth like a faucet.

Beth, eyes still glued to the evil reflection of herself, began choking, seeing the blood splatter out of her mouth; she looked down and saw the blood soaking her once-beautiful dress from the wound in her gut. Felt her face, rubbing her fingers in the thick blood forming there. Saw the skin of her legs, torn up and bleeding. Horrified and frozen, she silently begged herself to wake up from this deranged nightmare.

But she heard Mirror Beth begin to sing, softly at first and then growing in volume so that Beth could hear her clearly, and, naturally, she was singing Beth's favorite song. Favorite song to sing, favorite song to hear, favorite song to know. Beth stilled, letting herself be serenaded by the most twisted version of her own self. Her voice was beautiful, tragically so, but the words and the tone in which she sang them began to exude a subtle edge of malice, of mockery and cruelty.

Mirror Beth, still singing, held the jagged shard of now-bloodied glass in her right hand while she extended her left wrist forward, presenting it with a vague air of arrogance, for Beth to see.

Mirror Beth stopped singing then but began humming immediately, almost sound like a little girl, almost swaying with her own rhythm. It was the same song, the same beautiful melody, and she'd picked up right where she left off, smiling wickedly as she dragged the jagged tip of the shard vertically down her left wrist. And suddenly the only thing that Beth could feel was searing _pain_ igniting from the spot, traveling up her arm and then spreading, all at once, to all of the other places this sick, twisted version of herself had lacerated her, ruined her. Mirror Beth laughed, a sickly unrecognizable sound, as Beth screamed out in pain.

xxx

Beth's eyes popped open to the familiar forest floor, and she blinked a few times to be sure it was over. Careful not to make much movement despite her pounding heart and labored breaths, she lifted a hand to her face and, with a sense of relief she never thought she'd feel for this particular reason, let her fingers trace the scars and imperfections, all of which were right where they were supposed to be.

She took a deep breath to calm herself. Shook her head slightly to rid her mind of the last remaining fragments of images lingering there. Wondered if she'd reacted in any visible or audible way to the dream—her worst nightmare—though she figured Daryl or Ben would have probably awoken her if that were the case.

She pulled the blanket up tighter around her, now wide awake though the darkness of the night still felt somehow relatively young. As her breathing evened out, she heard the soft murmurs of Ben and Daryl behind her, not far away.

"C'mon, man, I've been pourin' my heart out to your ass all night. Never would'a done that before, 'less I had too much to drink." Ben's voice. Beth had never been so relieved to hear it.

"Ain't got nothin' interestin' to share. Seen a lot o' fucked up shit, done even worse. Already told ya 'bout my brother." Daryl this time. Beth was now calm enough to feel mildly surprised, wondering what all he'd shared with Ben about Merle. Not that she had any reason to wonder or care, but her current alternative to eavesdropping was dangerous territory with the nightmare still fresh and not far from her mind.

"And her?" Ben asked. Beth froze, tried to stop her body from reacting in any way at all to what she assumed was a referral to herself, even though she was facing the opposite direction of the two men.

"She—" Daryl paused, seeming to think carefully about how he responded next, and it resulted in an involuntary spreading of warmth deep inside of Beth, despite the anxiety slowly building in some other part of her. "Beth is—family. My family."

Ben huffed. "That it?"

"I'd do anythin' for her. She's family. Like Rick and Michonne and Carol and the rest of 'em." Daryl's voice was slightly muffled, like his hand or fingers were obscuring part of his mouth or lips.

"Uh-huh. Ya look at Rick the same way ya look at her?" Ben was playing with fire, poking the sleeping dragon, Beth knew. She winced slightly, wondering how _colorful_ Daryl's response might be, and she felt another twinge of embarrassment for Ben. _Kid just doesn't listen_ , she thought, clenching her jaw.

Strangely, she heard nothing for several minutes, or maybe longer. Heavy silence. No cries of pain or sounds of a fist striking a face or signs of any crossbows being loaded, so Ben should be safe, physically at least, for the moment. Hopefully.

"Hmm, yeah. So—okay, ya—yeah, ya love her then, huh? Or at least really, really like her." Beth heard the smile in Ben's words even as she fought the urge to flip over and look at Daryl to see what it was about him, his expression or his eyes or his behavior or _just what_ had led Ben to voice that type of conclusion.

Daryl made a noise but didn't respond. A grunt, or something like it. Another one of those grunts that belonged to the ever-growing variety that Beth didn't quite know how to interpret, and she couldn't stop the speeding rate of her heart as she considered his response—or lack of response—to Ben's insinuation.

"So, how'd ya deal with it—when ya thought she was gone, I mean—or, when she _was_ gone? Or whatever. I mean, for so many months, ya'll thought she was dead. I never heard the story, not any real version of it, anyhow. Know she doesn't wanna talk 'bout it. Know that, 'fore tonight, I would'a rather pissed razors than ask you 'bout it." All amusement had vanished from Ben's voice, as he indirectly sought the answers—maybe the solutions—to his own existential dilemma after the loss of Laurel. Asking and hoping to find his answers from this man who, once upon a time, would have told anyone who'd asked (if he'd even have felt like gracing them with a response) that he was _nobody, nothing._ _Just some redneck asshole._

Against the odds and in direct opposition to the manner in which Beth now viewed and handled _things_ , she found that she, too, was curious. It wasn't anything that she could control, her curiosity. She was more than wide awake now and awaiting Daryl's response, almost as if she'd been the one asking.

Daryl's voice was raspy and low and quiet. Beth could just imagine him biting the skin around his thumb, rubbing it unevenly along his jaw, his lips, as he spoke. "Beth was—she was different, before. I was too. I was a jackass who just kept on survivin'. Another group attacked us, before, took the closest thing we'd ever got right from under us. She an' I—we got out together. Just us, didn't find no livin' evidence of no one else from our family when we ran. But she just kept believin' we'd find everyone again. Pissed me off, 'cause I knew that there was no damn way we'd find 'em. No damn way they all lived too. I felt like it was my fault, some o' the shit that went down. Took it out on her. I'unno why, guess 'cause she was there. Guess 'cause she was everythin' I wasn't."

Daryl paused to take a breath and Beth used the opportunity to inhale one of her own, not realizing she'd been holding it as she'd listened to him tell Ben the story of a girl he used to know, the girl she used to be.

"We had it out pretty bad, one night. I started it, was bein' a dick. Drunk on 'shine. Took all o' my anger an' the shit I's afraid of out on her then an' the whole stupid thing ended with her—uh, with her huggin' me, holdin' me like nobody ever did. Told me it wasn't my fault, she didn't blame me, that I's good. Was just days after she watched her dad die. Lost her whole family, 'cept Maggie. After that, things were different. Things were good, good as they could'a got. Started t' believe that not all the world's gone to shit."

Beth heard a shuffling sound, realized Daryl was probably fidgeting and feeling uncomfortable with what he'd said, what he'd revealed about himself, maybe what he'd revealed about her.

But he kept talking. "An' just when things were gettin' better, shit part of the world came back, reminded me it's still there. People took her, kept her at some hospital. I eventually found Rick an' the others an' we eventually got t' her. Could tell just by lookin' at her she wasn't the same. I'unno what happened in there, back then. One second she was by my side an' we were leavin' an' the next she was gettin' shot in the head by some dumb bitch. All to save her fuckin' friend. Her blood was all over my face. I shot that fuckin' bitch, the one that shot 'er. Everythin' good was gone. Again."

Beth lifted her hand, quiet as she could, to wipe away the small but traitorous tear sliding down her cheek. It confused her as much as it irritated and embarrassed her. She hadn't even felt any moisture gathering in her eyes. Hadn't felt like she was crying. She didn't cry.

As much as she no longer wanted to listen, Beth couldn't stop herself from it, from allowing Daryl to continue stabbing her in the heart with each word he murmured.

"So ya wonderin' how I coped. I wouldn't eat nothin' for days, wouldn't talk to nobody. Didn't wanna be with the others. Thought about leavin' more'n I can count. Prayed to _somethin'_ that I'd just die. Felt like I—like I couldn't keep on, missin' her the way I did. Missin' Merle. All the guilt. 'Til one day, after I burnt m'self with a cigarette just to feel somethin' else, I thought on it, long an' hard. Decided if she was still here, she would'a been pissed at the way I's actin'. Swore I could hear her, screamin' at me like she did, before, tellin' me to have some faith. An' it didn't take away none o' the pain. But it made me wanna try." His voice trailed off at the end and the words lingered there in the air.

Beth knew her entire body was shaking, wondered how long it'd be until one or both of them noticed and called her out. Her throat was dry and aching and the tears were gathering in the wells of her eyes at an uncontrollable, _unmanageable_ pace at this point and her chest was so tight and she couldn't breathe. Everything just _hurt_ , and the fact that she couldn't feel actual pain didn't ease her discomfort.

She lay still, trying with desperation to redirect her thoughts from where they were heading, from where they'd already gone without her permission. She hadn't wanted to know about any of that. Didn't want to think about it or hear it and right then she would have given anything to erase the memories, to go back in time and tell Dawn to do something noble for once and fucking shoot her in the area of her brain responsible for the formation and storage of memories.

Despite the war she was having with herself, Ben and Daryl had remained silent on the other side of her. She soon heard Ben tell Daryl goodnight, heard Ben shuffling around and positioning himself on the blanket Beth had left out for him several feet away from her. Sometime later, as she lay still wide awake, she heard his quiet snores and breaths, and she couldn't take it anymore.

She rolled slowly onto her other side. Daryl remained sitting across the fire pit he'd dug earlier that evening, knees pulled up into his chest, arms wrapped around them, almost cradling himself, head hanging low. He didn't seem to notice her.

She pulled herself into a sitting position, keeping the thin blanket wrapped around her like a shield, like her armor. He looked up then, found her eyes in the darkness.

"Beth," he whispered. "Everythin' okay?" A mild look of concern gradually enveloped his features as she let the silence stretch out, drew it thick and taut between them.

Beth inhaled deeply, looked down at the ground, studied the gap that separated them. Stared at his hands, which she knew were so, so gentle and caring despite the rough, hard appearance of them and how dangerous and deadly they actually could be. She returned her eyes to his and slowly shook her head.

"No, Daryl." Her voice was a whisper and she saw the concern on his face morph into confusion. "Everythin' isn't okay."

"Can't ya sleep?" He asked. "'M sorry if we woke ya. Kid ain't handlin' things all that good. I's tryin' to talk to him, make him feel better."

She stood then, trusting with a faith that'd blossomed from some unknown origin that her legs wouldn't buckle under the weight of her body and her head, both heavy and full with thoughts and visions and words she wasn't sure she'd know how to say if she wanted to. She made her way over to him.

He looked at her, and through the blue of his irises, she could see the questions. And she wondered if she looked just a little further, moved just a little closer, whether or not she'd find any answers of her own.

She still didn't know what to say. Or ask. She could just blame the nightmare, but that wasn't anything she was really interested in talking about or thinking about.

"Beth," his voice was a whisper overlying something like fear, and it startled her out of her thoughts. "Girl. What's goin' on?"

She couldn't take it. The way he said her name. The way his eyes were looking into hers and even deeper still, beyond and so far past her eyes with every passing second that his stare didn't waver. Feelings and emotions were pushing at her from the inside and she felt a faint pulsing at the base of her skull, insistent on making its presence known.

She fidgeted, almost squirming where she stood, mouth opening and closing like a fish with no sound coming out, eyes darting around nervously.

The quickened pace of her breathing was becoming noticeable, she realized, even as she was waist-deep in her own panic. She was sure he could see the vessels in her neck, pumping hard with the passage of her blood at her pulse point. And if he leaned in close enough, just a hair's breadth closer, he'd probably be able to hear the rapid thudding of her heart against her rib cage.

She wasn't even sure what she was doing, what she wanted. But when she finally let her eyes return to his, and he was looking at her like _that_ , she knew.

Without grace or preamble, she sunk onto her knees and crawled toward him, heaving in impossibly noisy breaths that sounded more like sobs. And he said nothing. Just parted his knees, allowing her to invade his space without a question, without even a hint of judgment or offense or worry that Beth could see.

His hands came up to her face tentatively when she reached him, thumbs swiping around her eyes, and she silently prayed that she hadn't started crying. Because she didn't know, she couldn't tell any more. She didn't know anything. A wave of embarrassment and shame shot through her without warning, and she was shaking her head then, trying to brush him off, trying to retreat, but he wasn't going for that. He grabbed the sides of her face, palms against the very edges of her jaw. He steadied her, with those rough and gentle and hard and caring hands, held her head and her body and her heart still. Supporting her weight, supporting _her_ , the only way he knew how.

She heaved in another breath, remained still in his hands. Closed her eyes. Still didn't know what in the _fuck_ she was doing, what she was thinking.

"Beth," he whispered again, mouth hanging slightly open even after her name rolled off his tongue. She redirected her mind, tried to focus on absorbing the present, and it was then that she realized the truth, the only truth she could absorb at this moment. That she'd never felt as safe as she had when she was with him. Since returning to her family, during this entire journey, and, if she'd let herself think about it, even _before_.

Him. The hope of him. He kept her going, all those months. The way he looked at her, the words he'd spoken about her without knowing she'd heard. And she knew he wouldn't have said them if he had known she was awake. Knew that he'd have held it all inside, willingly, even if it hurt him, so long as _she_ wasn't hurting. _And d_ _on't you think that's beautiful?_ the voice of the girl she used to be asked. And it made the girl she was _now_ want to smile and laugh and nod and praise god that the most beautiful things in life were still here, in this horrible fucked up world.

Without another thought or another breath or another word, she pushed herself further toward him, as close as she could. Because now. Now she knew. He loosened his grip on her face just as she reached her own arms forward, latching her hands onto his strong shoulders, thanking _something_ that she could _feel_ him beneath her. Him.

Maybe she did smile then, she wasn't sure. She lost herself and all conscious thought as she pressed forward still and sealed her mouth over his.

 ** _A/N Part 2: I am re-uploading this because, good lord, did I even proofread before posting?_**


	9. heavy as a feather when you hit the dirt

_**A/N: Chapter 9 is here. Hope you enjoy it.**_

 _ **Recap: Ben is trying to find some hope that he can get past**_ _ **his loss. Beth had a nightmare, which, if it wasn't clear due to some REALLY RIDICULOUS TYPOS/MISTAKES I made (I re-uploaded it last night but may go through again...cut me some slack, I'm a grammar/spelling snob, but I was watching TWD while editing chapter 8 ;)), was her subconscious forcing her to remember her past. The scene in the last chapter with "Mirror Beth"? Yeah, I started writing that on Halloween and kind of scared myself with the vision of it...creepy beautiful girl singing and humming and laughing while stabbing and cutting herself...I promise I'm not a weirdo, but I was happy with how it turned out and sincerely hope anyone reading this was too. OH. Last part of the recap, Beth overhears Daryl basically re-telling the story of Bethyl from his own POV. It does things to her, emotionally. She has trouble dealing with her emotions and is rather impulsive in her actions, despite all the thinking we get to see. And she kisses Daryl...**_

 _ **I'm not totally mean and this chapter starts out immediately where the previous one left off. A little steamy, a little sad, a little confusing for our characters. They're continuing their journey, and nothing good can last for long, right?**_

 _ **To the Guest reviewer: I sadly did not come up with the chapter titles. They are taken from song lyrics, usually the song that's stuck in my head or that I'm listening to while I write the chapter, which is why they somehow seem to work. Thanks for noticing them and for your review.**_

 _ **Leave me a review! Please? I'll give you cookies...**_

 _ **P.S. This work of fiction is now posted at AO3, another site I love to visit. And you can friend me (or add me or follow me or whatever the hell) on tumblr at rox0rzkitty.**_

 _ **xx**_

 **chapter 9: heavy as a feather when you hit the dirt  
**

Maybe it was because of what he'd remembered earlier that night as he'd told the story of the girl she used to be. Maybe it was because, per his own admission, she—or the thought of her—had been the thing that had kept him fighting to live another day, even when he didn't want to, even when she was gone.

Maybe it was because she _was_ broken and changed and scarred in so many ways and he wanted to fix her, bring back that girl, the one who'd made him want to _try._ Even if the prospect of that was little more than a lost cause in Beth's eyes.

After his initial lack of response to her mouth upon his—a lack of response that'd felt like it stretched on and on for an immeasurable amount of time—he'd finally, _finally_ , surged forward somewhat clumsily and wrapped his arms around her middle with a power that forced the air straight out of her and into him. He straightened his legs underneath him, back rested against a tree, and pulled her onto his lap. He brought one hand up to palm the back of her head, finding purchase in the tangles of her hair, used it to angle her so that he could deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue and his sweat and his words and unspoken promises and _every single thing that he was_ into her.

A low hum vibrated in his throat and Beth began to feel a frantic desperation work its way into her body, the sensation of it causing her to suddenly and violently jerk her hips forward, rolling onto him a bit more, wanting to be closer than what was seemingly humanly possible.

She had virtually no experience with this. Any of it. A few sloppy kisses, maybe, sometime _before_. She wasn't quite sure what she was doing. And it was sloppy and clumsy and their lips and tongues and mouths made wet squelching noises and their teeth clacked together and she was making sounds that might've embarrassed her if she hadn't been so impossibly overwhelmed with sensation. With him.

She placed a shaking hand against his cheek, the other sliding further over his shoulder and onto his upper back, rubbing small but desperate circles on his shoulder blade that must've begun to feel uncomfortable, because he'd started to shift his weight away from the friction, using the hand anchored to her waist as leverage. His pelvis thrust up against her as a result of the efforts to reposition himself, and the sensation Beth felt because of that accidental movement was unlike _any other_ that she had ever experienced and, _god_. Oh, god, it felt _good_ , so good. She couldn't quite help the needy sound that escaped her mouth at the contact, and he swallowed it down before making a noise of his own, something like a whimper, that just about made her come undone.

Using the hand still tangled up in her hair, Daryl suddenly and jerkily yanked her head back, away from his, breaking the bond between their mouths.

He bent his head down as their lips and faces and bodies disentangled somewhat, still gripping her, breathing heavily. His lips were swollen and pink and she nearly sobbed when he sucked them into his mouth, letting his tongue run over them briefly.

And then shock set in, sharp and splintering and agonizing, within her bones and viscera.

"Oh— _oh my god_ —Daryl, I—I'm, I didn't mean to—I'm sorry," Embarrassment pushed its heavy and unforgiving weight down onto Beth, who still remained in Daryl's lap, essentially straddling him with her legs apart, panting and hot and slick, like some mindless bitch in heat.

She started to move away so that she could then proceed with _running the fuck away_ when he released the hand from her hair. But before she could even begin to move, he quickly shifted both of his hands to her hips, keeping her firmly in place. He finally lifted his head to look up at her, just as she could feel her eyes beginning to sting. Her skin was on fire, throat was incredibly dry, and a persistent and unrelenting wet, hot, pulsing sensation somewhere lower was about to drive her out of her mind.

He rubbed small, slow circles on her hips, keeping his eyes trained on hers. His eyes that were somehow darker than Beth had remembered; the black of his pupils bleeding out and diluting the blue.

"Ain't gotta apologize," he finally said, voice thick and a little breathless. "We just—I can't—we can't do this, Beth."

She nodded, allowing the shame that'd been there, just below the surface of everything else, to overtake her. She again tried to move against his strong grip, to get off of him, away from him. He squeezed her harder.

"It ain't you. Beth—you, you're everythin'. An' god, goddamn it, you got no idea how many times I imagined that. An' how much better the real thing was." His voice was low, his eyes had moved from hers and were sliding slowly down her body.

"It ain't me. But you can't." Beth repeated, monotonous despite the shame and embarrassment and confusion and anger and _want_ she was feeling.

"Ain't right," he said quietly, moving one hand from her hip to flatten lightly over her abdomen, and she wondered what he felt there; the softness of a child or the curve of a woman or just what she was: a product of her environment and circumstances.

She didn't trust herself to speak. She nodded again, put each of her hands over his, removing them from her body—not just because she needed to move them in order to physically move herself, away from _him_ , but also because while he continued to touch her this way, she wouldn't be able to even _think_ of moving.

She stood and turned away, giving herself just a moment before she walked back over to the other side of the fire pit and returned to her previous sleeping position, facing away from Daryl.

She closed her eyes, willing away the temptation to recount what'd happened moments earlier. Yeah, she'd been exhausted, still was in many ways; but as she drifted into sleep this time around, she'd had an entirely different dream. A dream that featured her, as she was now, and blue eyes and rough hands and clumsy kisses that made her shiver in hungry anticipation rather than fear.

xxx

"How much longer?" Ben was impatient. Beth pegged him for the type that'd, once upon a time, annoyed the ever-living shit out of his parents during road trips.

"Keep up your goddamn questions an' I'll make it a hell of a lot longer than it has to be." As expected, Daryl was in a mood. Had been all day, still was even though they were at least halfway into the day.

"Well, _excuse me_ for bein' a li'l anxious 'bout gettin' to this fuckin' meet up spot so I can see if I even got anyone there waitin' for me," Ben replied, slowing his pace to walk alongside Beth, who was a much more pleasant travel companion, at least for now.

"Ain't much further to go, Ben. Oughtta get there by tomorrow night." She was trying to reassure him and calm him as much as she was trying to get him to shut the hell up. Her head was pounding. She hadn't really slept well between her vicious nightmare and after—well, after all the other things that'd happened the previous night.

They'd come across a clearing in the seemingly never-ending forest, within which lives had ended and girls with damaged brains had done terribly stupid things, and saw a small town seated a bit further up the barren road.

"Oh my god!" Ben sounded excited. "Civilization! Please mom and dad," he teased, "can we _please_ go?"

Beth lips curved into a small smile at the man's mocking terms of endearment for herself and Daryl.

Daryl stopped and turned around toward Beth and Ben, locking eyes with Beth.

"What d'ya think?" His question was obviously directed towards her, and she felt a small but somewhat unwelcome swell of pride within her belly, despite the lingering undercurrent of embarrassment and confusion that stemmed from what'd happened the previous night, at his valuing her opinion on the matter.

""S on the way, ain't seen any walkers for a good while. Don't see why not," she responded, keeping her voice neutral and even.

"'Kay. We'll pass through it. See anything, we'll stop. Overrun with walkers, we'll turn 'round if we can't take 'em out."

xxx

Beth was pleased to find a small general store in the small town, which couldn't have been home to more than 400 people or so before the turn. The buildings were run down, houses small and sparse. The little village had all of the basic necessities: post office, gas station, small school, church, bank, general store. In another time, she may've found the town cute, quaint even.

They'd done a quick sweep and, after finding no immediate threats, decided to take a look around. Ben was on one side of the solitary street that divided the town, scoping out a store that advertised fishing and hunting gear. Daryl sat outside on the sidewalk lining the opposite side of the street, smoking a cigarette. Beth was walking up and down the small aisles of the general store, which was located on the side of the street opposite of Ben's store of choice. The general store wasn't picked over as badly as some of the places she'd seen. She opened her pack, shoving in some canned fruits and vegetables, snacks, gum, and a few bottles of water.

She walked around the store a bit then, studying the sales that'd been going on, finding some bit of dry amusement at how meaningless money and _"once in a lifetime!"_ sales (among other things), which had once been so important to humans _before,_ were now.

She discovered one small rack of t-shirts bearing cheap logos advertising the general store. Nothing special, but she was happy to rid herself of the filthy, stained yellow top she'd been wearing since Alexandria.

Daryl entered the store moments later, his entrance signaled by the jingling of the bell that still hung from the top of the doors.

She'd met his eyes over the short shelves making up the few small aisles of the store and he made his way over toward her.

"Find anythin'?" He asked after a few moments of silence. She could feel him standing behind her as she pretended to study the different varieties of canned beans.

"Grabbed some food and water," she responded. "There's some baby stuff over there, think I oughtta grab a few diapers, maybe. To take for Judith."

"'M sure Rick would appreciate it."

Beth squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the telltale signs of the beginning of a headache vibrating against the base of her skull. Everything felt wrong. Weird. She'd fucked up badly. Still wasn't quite sure what she'd been thinking, kissing him like that, like she'd had some right to. Even though he'd said he'd thought about it, wanted it too, it wasn't safe for them to be getting caught up in some soap-opera bullshit when they had a mission to accomplish, a goal to achieve, a meet up location at which they needed to arrive safely.

She turned around then, once again finding Daryl's body closer than she'd anticipated. She gasped a little with the contact, taking a moment to look him over, study his dirty jeans and brown button-up sleeveless shirt and signature leather vest. His crossbow was tucked behind him, always within reach. His eyes were narrowed slightly, half-covered by his hair, as always. She fought the sudden urge to brush it away from his face, offer to give him a haircut so he could see what was coming at him—whether it was a walker or an enemy or some fucked up girl trying to force herself upon him in the dead of the night.

She inhaled shakily, regaining some of her composure.

"Daryl. What happened last night, I—I can't even begin to tell ya how—sorry I am. I—it just. Just happened. My emotions're—well, they're hard for me to control sometimes. My brain—it kind'a runs on the whole _act now, think later_ type'a thing, you know?" She paused for a moment, looking up at him. Small wrinkles formed where his eyebrows had furrowed as he listened to her stumble her way through this—she didn't even know what this was—apology, maybe? Explanation?

"I don't wanna ruin anythin'. Can't do this without you. Can't get back to everybody 'less I'm with you, 'less we're in this together. And I gotta get back to 'em, Daryl. Otherwise, what was the point of me comin' back at all?"

He tilted his head down then, just a little. Shook his head, shrugged.

"Don' know why ya feel like ya gotta explain yourself. Told you how I felt. Didn't exactly sit there _doin' nothin'_ , now did I?" His voice was low and his words shot right through her and he was so close, _too_ close, and if he didn't do something _right the fuck now_ she was going to just launch herself at him, beg him to take her, to do anything he wanted to do to her.

She sucked in a shallow breath. "Daryl—" she whispered, unable to control her body from leaning closer to his, unable to stop—

"WHO THE FUCK YOU HERE WITH, BOY?"

Beth stilled suddenly. The voice came from outside the store. It was loud. Angry. Snapped whatever spell had been overtaking Beth and Daryl; he dropped quickly to the floor, pulling her down with him.

They army-crawled over to the large windows at the front of the store.

Beth lifted her head slightly so that she could try and see what was going on.

 _Oh god, not Ben_. It was a moment of déjà vu for Beth as she took in the sight in front of her. Ben, sweet Ben, on his knees in the middle of the street. Four of the men in black, all armed and sporting faces smeared with paint, surrounded and restrained their companion.

Daryl followed suit and glanced through the window, whispering a string of curses as he did.

Crying, Ben answered the man. "Ain't nobody with me, sir. I—I'm alone. I'm by myself." His voice was shaky, breath uneven.

The questioning man had begun lazily pacing back in forth in front of Ben. Two of his associates were behind him, unmoving, with their guns aimed at Ben. The other remained behind Ben, keeping him in place.

"You look like a nice kid. We ain't tryin' to scare ya. But we gotta question everyone we come 'cross. Lookin' for some real bad people, kid. People who killed many o' my own."

He stopped pacing, crouching directly in front of Ben, their noses inches apart.

"Now, you ain't seen any bad people out here, have ya, son?" He lifted his gun, glided it lightly down one side of Ben's face, which was now stricken with fear as sweat and tears slid down to his neck.

"N—no. No, sir. Ain't come 'cross anyone. Not since my girlfriend got bit."

"Got bit? Why'd ya let that happen? Them damn geeks are the least of your worries, kid. Poor girl. Was she pretty? Bet she was. Ain't many pretty ones left. But I bet yours was a pretty one." The man stayed crouched, his voice was devoid of any emotion besides utter cruelty and mockery.

Beth couldn't watch any longer. She made to move toward the doors of the store when Daryl grabbed her arm, _hard_.

"Thought we were done with this shit, Beth. Yain't goin' out there." Daryl said. No, he _commanded_ , as there was no room for discussion in his voice. Beth couldn't risk fighting him now, couldn't let the rage that was building and building and building to boil over the surface.

She returned to her spot beside him, huffing. "I'm _not_ gonna sit here and watch those fuckers kill Ben."

"Ain't plannin' on watchin' anythin' like that either," he responded, the anger was mostly gone from his voice, replaced by some kind of determination.

They continued watching out the windows. Beth's mind was racing, trying to think of how to cause a distraction, or how to get somewhere that would allow them to get a shot at any of the men.

"Know what I think o' pieces o' shit who let the last of the pretty girls get bit? Pieces o' shit like you? Huh, kid?"

Ben whimpered, shaking his head in response to the man's question.

The man stood slowly, methodically. Reared back his leg and then forcefully swung it forward, kicking Ben straight in the gut, causing Ben to suck in a noisy breath and whimper again, this time in pain.

The man motioned with his fingers to the one behind Ben, who then stood up, dragging Ben, coughing and huffing and trying to breathe, up into standing with him.

"Take off your backpack." Ben followed the instructions without hesitation. "Put it on the ground. Yea, right there."

The two men that were standing behind the vocal one came forward then, wordlessly, opening and dumping the contents of Ben's pack onto the road. They began to pick up what Beth assumed were the items that they needed or wanted or liked. She wondered vaguely why they'd go through all the trouble of stealing Ben's things when there were clearly stores here, only a few feet away from where they stood.

They finished ransacking Ben's pack quickly, leaving a few useless items out on the street.

The vocal man began again. "'M sorry, kid. But it's too big a risk for us t' let ya go free, now you've seen us."

"B—but, I—I can't even—I haven't seen your faces. 'Cause of the paint. That's cl—that's clever, sir. Promise I won't tell nobody 'bout any o' this if ya let me go. _Please_." Ben was begging the man, begging for his life.

" _Shit_ ," Daryl muttered, his breathing becoming rapid as the scene continued to play out in front of them.

"Daryl—" Beth couldn't stop the panic from her voice, from her mind and her body. "We can't just stay here. Let them do this."

"The _fuck_ do you wanna do, Greene? Go out there, two against four? They all got guns. They'll kill him if we go out there, probably kill us too. That what you want?" His voice was a whisper, the harshness of which grew stronger with each word he spat at her.

"Well if we _don't_ go out there, then they're definitely gonna kill him. An' then they'll probably come in here an' kill us anyway!" She hissed.

" _Goddamnit_ , Beth. Just—don't. Wait. Beth, please—"

But it was too late. She was fast. And she couldn't let this happen. Not to him. No matter how badly she wanted to get back to her family, because that's what she came back from the "dead" to do. Find her family. Be with them until she actually was dead.

She was running; the colors around her became a blur as she pushed the doors of the store open, faintly hearing that stupid bell jingle. Five heads turned toward her as she reached the pavement of the road and slowed to a stop. Four surprised expressions and one cruel smile.

Beth was now the target of the guns that'd previously been aimed at Ben. _Good._

The vocal man stepped toward her, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

"Well, well, _well_ ," he began, and she could see his eyes raking up and down her body in a way that was predatory as much as it was obtrusive. And despite the paint that covered his face, Beth _knew_ those eyes. Wouldn't—couldn't forget them. She froze, feeling the vomit rise in her throat.

She'd run into this man, maybe even this entire group, _before_. She felt a tingling sensation—real or imaginary, she wasn't quite sure—on the skin overlying the bite marks above her left breast, mentally matching them up with the crooked curve of his wicked, shit-eating smile.

He stepped forward, coming closer still, and she saw it. The long, thin, uneven scar that ran from his right ear to his nose.

The scar she'd created as she'd fought for her life, struggling to escape this man who'd once tried to take every last _bit_ of life she had left away from her.

His sickening smile widened as he approached Beth.

"Long time no see, beautiful."


	10. bite my tongue till blood soaks my shirt

_**A/N: Okay, I legitimately have a problem. I've literally done nothing else today (granted, it's my day off) than write and write and write. I can't stop. Hi, I'm CL and I am a fanfiction addict. SEND HALLLLLLLP!**_

 _ **Second chapter in 1 day, but I could not WAIT to get this one out. It may leave you with some questions, and that's okay; I am here to answer them, or at least talk in circles pretending to answer them.  
**_

 _ **Without further ado, chapter 10 is here. I'd venture to guess that we're nearing the 50-75% completion mark of this story, but *I***_ _ **rarely believe**_ _ **anything that I say myself, so you maybe, probably, likely shouldn't either.**_

 _ **Reviews make me happy. They'd make Daryl Dixon happy too...maybe even so happy that he'd give you a ride on his motorcycle ;)**_

 _ **xx**_

 **chapter 10: bite my tongue till blood soaks my shirt  
**

"Where ya been hidin', pretty girl?" The man in black continued advancing on Beth, who still stood just several feet outside the doors of the general store. She'd come out here ready to fight, prepared to take on four men to save the life of her companion—her friend—but she hadn't realized she'd come face to face with the absolute _worst_ person she'd crossed paths with (to put it lightly), _before_.

Her arms hung loosely at her sides; the gun she'd been gripping in one hand was long forgotten for the moment even as her entire body trembled.

She couldn't find her voice. Couldn't get her brain to push the words through the necessary neural channels and networks so that they'd come out of her mouth.

"Been a long time, sugar. What ya doin' all the way up here, girly? This kid a friend o' yours?" He— _Robert_ —her brain at least worked well enough to conjure up the bastard's name, asked, jerking his head backward as he referred to Ben, who still remained on his knees with one of Robert's associates behind him, holding his arms.

She let her eyes shift to Ben, made herself appear to be taking a long, curious look at him before returning them to Robert. She shook her head.

"Never seen him before." Her voice came out quiet but much more even than she'd anticipated.

Robert nodded, that chilling grin still in place as he came to stand directly in front of Beth. She cursed herself internally, begged her body to remain still, to not show any signs of fear—because this sick fuck _loved_ it when people were afraid. Got off on it.

"What ya doin' with him, anyhow? Get sick o' playin' with girls?" She asked, letting her lips slowly form a fake and possibly mischievous smile.

Robert scowled at that, as Beth had expected; he didn't like anyone questioning his _tastes_.

"Nah. Think you _know_ better'n that, princess. 'Less you wanna quick reminder. Nah, just bidin' our time for now. Been huntin' a group o' people that done us wrong."

He rolled up one sleeve of his black hooded sweatshirt and lifted a filthy hand up to Beth's face. She forced herself to remain calm as he let his fingers slide down her face slowly.

"God _damn_ , forgot how pretty ya are." She kept her eyes on his face as he spoke, creating a barrier between herself and all the emotions she was feeling.

"But I still 'member what ya sound like when ya _scream_."

She clenched her jaw tightly. Couldn't control her mind for for _just a second_ , as she remembered in brief flashes all the shit this sick, twisted motherfucker had done to her.

If the world were still the world, he'd have at least five counts against him in a court of law: kidnapping, attempted rape, assault and battery, stalking, and attempted murder, and those were just the ones he'd committed against her. And probably not even an all-inclusive list.

But then, she guessed, she'd have had a few of her own, too.

"What's up with the painted faces?" She changed the subject before she lost all control and just shot the asshole. That was too great a risk at the moment. Though she'd find sublime joy in killing him, she wouldn't risk Daryl or Ben—she was out here to save Ben, after all.

"Well, see now, that's a good question. Seems that even after the world ends, it's still such a small, small place t' be. Runnin' into same people ain't good when you're in our kind'a business." The smile returned to his face then, and Beth swore she saw a faint hint of self-pride cross his features and it made her want to _bash his fucking face in_.

"So, ya'll still have the—farm? The girls?" She had to be careful with what she said or asked or did, but all she could think to do at the moment was to keep him talking, keep him distracted. She hoped Daryl wasn't contemplating doing anything stupid or reckless, as she could only imagine his thoughts as he watched and listened from the store.

Robert nodded. "'Course. Gonna repopulate the earth, baby. Just runnin' low on some things, ventured out to find some supplies. Bunch'a our guys got killed invadin' some shit town south'a here." Of course it'd been Alexandria. Of course.

"Did ya really expect anythin' different? Can't just go 'round robbin' people." She winced inwardly as the words left her mouth, prayed to _something_ that he wouldn't go on the defensive, turn into the ape-shit crazy bastard that she knew so well.

"We wasn't gonna hurt nobody, 'less we had to." He retorted

"'Cept for all the girls you keep. You hurt them, keep on hurtin' 'em, just like you hurt me." She felt a twinge of sadness for the others she'd left behind when she'd escaped that little piece of hell on earth. But that was how she survived.

"Never meant t' hurt ya, sweet thing. But you hurt me, too," he turned his head to the side, letting her get a closer look at the scar with which she'd left him. The gash was deep and uneven and it stood out even underneath the paint. "Gimme another chance, sweet baby girl. Lemme make it right. I'll make it good, _real_ good. Make it good for us both."

" _No_. Told ya I was gonna get out an' never come back. I did, and I ain't." She said, backing up a step as he leaned further forward, reaching his arms toward her waist.

"Well, maybe ya caught me on an off day, doll, but I don' 'member offerin' ya a _choice_ in the matter. Come with us or we'll just go 'head an' kill ya."

"Fuck you," she spat, still backing up and away from him as he continued stalking toward her, now just inches from the store windows.

Robert laughed, touching her hip lightly. "I tried. But then you attacked me, ya filthy little _bitch_. So, guess what ol' Bobby's gonna do now?" He was right in her face as he spoke. His hot breath blew right into her face and she couldn't wait. Couldn't _wait_ until this asshole couldn't take anymore breaths.

"Ol' Bobby's gonna bring ya back with us. We're gon' go back to the farm. Get ya your old room back, baby. An' then, I'm gonna tie your wrists together," he said, grabbing her wrists as he did so, playing out his words, causing her to drop her gun to the ground with a loud _clunk_.

"Then I'm gonna spread your sexy li'l legs _way_ apart an' tie them down too," he continued, breathing more heavily.

"Gonna take your clothes off—nah, _rip 'em off_ , and then—yeah, then I'll stuff 'em in your dirty fuckin' mouth."

His eyes were almost black now, and she remembered _this look_ too, too well. Her breathing was ragged, mind torn between trying to block out the involuntary rush of horrifying memories flooding it and the formation of plans to kill him—kill them all—and save Ben and make sure Daryl survived.

"An' then, baby— _then_ , I'm gonna fuck you _so hard_. You're gon' be screamin' an' cryin' when you take it. It's gon' _hurt_. But I know how much ya like pain, baby. 'Member how you didn't even _know_ I was bitin' your tits, your thighs, bitin' 'em so hard. 'S like it didn't even hurt ya, but I know ya just liked it. See? I'm gonna—"

Whatever he was "gonna", Beth would never know. Everything happened in a blur. The glass of the store windows that'd been just behind her shattered so suddenly she jumped and, perhaps, even yelped in surprise. Then she was being yanked _hard_ , backwards, by her hair or her waist or her shoulders, she had no idea. She flew over the window ledge and into the store. She felt herself rolling and sliding across the hard floor, shards of glass nicking and gashing her everywhere it touched—which was fine, of course, since she couldn't feel it.

Robert rolled into the store a moment later, his large body almost bouncing as it skidded by Beth and into the aisle next to where she'd landed. She took a moment to catch her breath, glance at her arms and legs and abdomen for any life-threatening injuries. The world began to spin as soon as she'd done a brief once-over of herself, and she wasn't quite sure whether the uncomfortable, dizzying sensation was related to blood loss or if she'd hit her head on the way in. She played it safe, remaining on all fours as she crawled over to Robert, who was unconscious, bloody, and unmoving.

She looked outside then, as best she could, and saw Daryl in a stand-off of sorts with one of the men in black, wondering faintly where the other two had gone. She saw Ben quickly beginning to run toward the store, heard that _stupid_ jingle at the door as he entered.

Beth's vision began to cloud and tunnel as Ben approached her, and she couldn't make out what he was saying. She wanted to tell him she was _so glad_ he hadn't been killed, that she was _so happy_ to see him, that she was _sorry_ ; but before she got the chance to even attempt any of it, the world around her went completely black.

xxx

When she came to, cracking her eyes open slightly, she saw Daryl— _thank god, he was okay,_ she thought—standing over Robert. She was still lying on the store's floor, blood pooling in a thick puddle around her that extended from her to Robert, and she was sure it wasn't all hers.

Beth slowly regained her senses. Opened her eyes a little wider to take in the scene in front of her, keeping her head against the floor for fear of blacking out again.

Ben was sitting by the counter near the front of the store, curled up in a corner with wide eyes as he, too, watched Daryl, who was kicking the _shit_ out of Robert's face at the moment.

"Please, man," she heard Robert's voice and, weak as she was, managed to shiver at the sound of it. His voice was a sound she'd wished for _months_ she'd never have to hear again. She wondered how and why he was still among the living.

"Don' ' _please, man'_ me, you fuckin' piece o' shit," Daryl was yelling, probably the loudest she'd ever heard him speak. "You fucked with _her_ an' she's my family. I killed your other men, so don' even _look_ out there. An' if there's more waitin', I'll fuckin' kill them too."

"There ain't no more. I swear, man. It was just us four, sent to check out these parts for some fuckin' people that done us wrong." Robert coughed then and nothing but a splatter of blood came from his mouth.

"Well, you done _me_ wrong. You done _her_ wrong. An' you're gonna pay. Where the _fuck's_ the rest o' your people?"

Robert didn't answer. Beth saw Daryl pacing briefly, steps loud and hard, before he moved out of her view for a moment, returning with a pair of pliers that must have been hanging from one of the shelves.

He crouched down next to Robert then, pliers in hand, and Beth couldn't make out what exactly he was doing. But if Robert's scream were any indication, it wasn't anything pleasant.

"FUCK! Please—please—I—they ain't close by. Our farm's outside'a Richmond. Some of us—we decided to spread out, look for them people I's tellin' ya about. Ain't goin' no further'n Washington. We was on our way back." Robert cried, suddenly more forthcoming.

"Ya got any way o' contactin' the others that're out lookin'?" Daryl continued questioning the man.

"Nah, man. Ain't like we got _cell phones_ or nothin'. But I'd bet all the rest of 'em are headed back home, too, 'less they came 'cross the people we's looking for."

"A'right." Daryl said, voice suddenly quiet, calm even. Beth saw him approaching her, and she moved her eyes up to his face. She wasn't sure what kind of look she was giving him at that moment, but as his eyes met hers, all she saw there was tenderness and concern and an undercurrent of distinct _anger_.

"Y'okay?" he asked, crouching down as Ben, scared as he must've been, moved to guard Robert.

Beth nodded as Daryl helped her into a sitting position. "Think so."

He grabbed her hand then, assisted her to her feet (and she wasn't as wobbly as she'd anticipated), and led her over to where Robert was.

Robert was almost unrecognizable now. His face was swollen with forming bruises and cuts from the glass and Daryl's fists and boots, all the paint had mostly been wiped off, too. He was bleeding from multiple areas. It'd likely be easier to count the areas from which he _wasn't_ bleeding. The bloody tip of a finger caught her attention and Beth remembered the pliers, wincing a bit at the thought.

"Girl. I'm s—sorry. For what I done." Robert said, voice trembling.

Beth felt a stinging behind her eyes. Not because she was moved in any way by his forced reformation, but because she had never felt this kind of relief, this level of _almost_ happiness, in anticipation of killing or the death of _anything_.

She narrowed her eyes, felt her face screwing up in a grimace that was almost outside of her control. She spat at him, bloody saliva landing right in his face as he broke down, crying and asking—begging—her for forgiveness. For mercy.

"You're an evil piece of _shit_ ," she said, feeling her face grow hot. She turned to Daryl, who stood beside her, as always. "Mind holdin' him for a second?"

Daryl got on the floor without question, restraining Robert's hands while motioning for Ben to hold his legs down to the floor.

Beth, heaving in breath after ragged breath, dropped to her knees and crawled up right to Robert's face. Let her lips curl into a smile, and she hoped it was the _sweetest fucking thing_ he'd ever seen.

She leaned down, fast, and sunk her teeth into the fleshy tissue of his chest, right above his left breast. She bit and bit and _bit_ and ground her teeth, almost chewing, around in all directions as he screamed in pain. Her teeth sunk further and further and further until her top and bottom sets touched one another through the layers of his skin.

He was sobbing, struggling against Daryl and Ben. She released his skin and sat up, weight on her heels, spat at him again, his own blood and torn up flesh. Grabbed her knife out of its holster and, without a thought, drove it downward into his crotch. Lifted the knife up again and repeated it. Again and again and again.

"PLEASE! Stop—god—oh, _please_ , just—just stop!" Robert's voice was becoming hoarse from his screaming.

Beth hadn't noticed the tears that were soaking her face then. The cries that were coming out of her mouth as she ruined him. Like he ruined her.

"You ain't _ever_ gonna hurt anyone again!" She screamed, moving her face right up into his as she ceased her actions. "An' just so you know, you _motherfucker_ , I didn't feel it. None o' the _sick_ shit you did to me. I _didn't feel it_. Does it still get you off? Still make you wanna try an' hurt me? Tie me down? HUH? DOES IT?!" She let out a humorless laugh as his face, though still pained, twisted with confusion, maybe disgust—at Beth, at himself, she didn't know. Didn't care.

"In just a second, _ol' Bobby_ ," she whispered, still close to his face, tears and blood and sweat running onto it from her own. "I'm gonna kill you. And after that, ya know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna kill _every last one'a you_ sons o' bitches. Gonna spit on your bodies. Let the walkers do the rest."

She gripped the knife and, in one swift motion, sliced it deeply across his neck from one side to the other before jamming it through his right eye, just for good measure.

The room fell silent then. Ben and Daryl released the dead man's limbs.

Beth fell back onto her ass, knees coming up protectively as she hugged them to her body and cried.

xxx

They were back in the woods soon after, continuing their journey north. Though they were all tired and bruised and _spent_ , they'd wordlessly come to an agreement that they had to distance themselves from the town, just in case Robert had been lying about the location and intentions of the others.

Beth hadn't cried for long. Wouldn't let herself. Didn't speak. Tried like hell not to think.

They'd been walking for at least three hours when Daryl broke the silence.

"Let's stop here. We'll be gettin' to the meet up by tomorrow night, maybe even early evenin'." Beth felt his eyes on her face. "Need to rest."

They set up camp wordlessly, the three of them moving around one another like one unit, like a well-oiled machine. Ben offered to take first watch, and no one argued with him.

The fire burned low and the heat of it felt good on Beth's skin, which had become clammy and cool as the night settled in. She lay on her side, facing the fire pit, staring at the abstract design formed by the spatters of blood on her hand in the light. Daryl sat across the pit, just staring at her for a long time, lost in his own thoughts.

He eventually made his way around the pit, lay down on his back next to Beth, placing her between his body and the fire.

She was praying he wouldn't ask anything, almost hoped he wouldn't say anything at all, though she didn't mind his voice—every variation and octave of which was honest and beautiful, from his yelling and screaming to his mumbles and indecipherable grunts.

She felt him roll his body toward her, his chest close, right up against her back. Felt the downward flow of his breath on her ear; Beth imagined he must have been resting his head on his hand, elbow propped up on the ground.

She placed both her hands under her head, stacking them and cradling herself, as he spoke.

"Ya done real good, Beth." His voice was a whisper, and some emotion that she couldn't identify laced his words.

She nodded slightly, not verbalizing any kind of response.

"Yain't gotta tell me nothin'. Ya already know that." He moved his free hand to her flank, gripping her hip gently. "You ever wanna go back, take care o' whatever kind'a shit they got goin' on, I'll help."

She nodded again, hoping he was able to interpret her silent gratitude.

"Don't want ya dealin' with nobody even remotely like them by yourself. Don't want ya dealin' with 'em at all, really, but if ya plan to do it one o' these days, I know I can't stop ya. Just tell me 'bout it, please, Beth, an' let me help ya."

She took a breath, unable to _deal_ rationally with his kindness, his protectiveness, for a moment.

"I promise to," Beth whispered, keeping her eyes on the fire in front of her. She felt a deep sigh from behind her, maybe in relief; she felt Daryl's grip on her hip tighten just slightly, just for a second before resting lightly there again.

"Yain't gotta do nothin' alone. Nothin'. Did that for long 'nough. I'm here."

She ignored the stinging behind her eyes as he spoke, forced her mind to stay still and focus on the flames.

"Did I hurt ya? I mean, did I cut ya real bad? When—when I broke the glass?" The tone of his voice had changed slightly as he asked, like he may've been afraid he'd damaged some vital organ and expected her to drop dead at any moment. It made Beth want to smile and call him _silly_ or _cute_ or some other word that just wasn't right.

She flopped over onto her back, kicking the blanket off of her as she did. Rolled up the sleeves of her jacket, turning her arms this way and that to let him see by the light of the fire beside them that she was okay.

He bent over her a little further, head still propped on one hand, to check her face she'd guessed. Lifted his free hand, slowly moving it to run over what must've been a new cut on her neck.

It wasn't a large cut by any means. It would scar, she realized as she'd run her hands along it, but then, what was another scar? Beth didn't care.

She removed her hand from her neck, letting her arm lay on the ground, alongside her body. Daryl placed his hand back over the same spot, again tracing the scar, over and over and over.

She was about to tell him to _knock it the fuck off_ , that it wasn't a big deal, and ask him if he'd forgotten what the _rest_ of her body looked like when he slowly, _so_ slowly, leaned his face down and covered that spot on her neck with his mouth.

She drew in some air at the contact, couldn't stop the shudder from rippling through her when she realized he was placing small kisses all along and around the scratch. Couldn't stop the breathless sound that came out of her mouth when she felt his tongue touch her skin, igniting the neurons there and in so many other places at the same time.

He lifted his head, not meeting her eyes, and pulled the top of her shirt down just a little, just exposing the bite mark above her breast—the one that had been left by Robert.

He repeated his ministrations, leaning down and placing his lips over the spot where she knew the mark was etched into her skin. His mouth lay over the spot for a moment before his lips started moving and he pressed, initially, closed-mouth pecks that eventually turned into more intimate ones, his tongue swiping at her skin and kissing it and she couldn't help but wonder why she was suddenly _almost_ glad it was there.

Though breathing heavily and just barely holding onto her ability to keep her body still or, really, do much of _anything_ logical, she reached up and threaded her fingers through his oily hair, pulling upwards, forcing him to look at her.

And— _oh_ —she was taken aback by the look in his eyes, tears leaking from the corners, like this was all _his_ fault and that he _needed_ to make up for it.

A lump formed in her throat as she shook her head, massaging his scalp with one hand while the other gently touched his face.

"Daryl," she whispered, without having any coherent or planned follow up to it. She couldn't think clearly when she could still feel the heat radiating off of the areas he'd touched and kissed.

He closed his eyes then, just for a second, before rolling more of himself on top of her. He didn't rest his full weight over her by any means, but rather braced his body on his elbows, which boxed in her upper body.

"Beth. I don' know how you did it. How you made it through all ya did. An', hell, I don't even know what all it was, if this was even the worst of it. But I _ain't_ gonna let it all be for nothin'. I ain't."

His whisper was filled with so much—so much _something_. And she knew, to him, it— _this_ —wasn't right. But there was _no way in hell_ she could stop herself from it.

She pushed herself up onto her elbows, keeping one hand on his face. And so gently, so slowly, she pulled his face closer to hers.

But it wasn't her this time. She wasn't the one who closed the distance between them. And for the first time in _so_ long, she let herself feel the tiniest shred of happiness as he pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss wasn't as urgent, not as desperate, as their last—or first—one was. This was all passion, all intimacy, all feeling and emotion, surging from one to the other and back again as their mouths moved. It was smoother this time, gentle. It didn't mean that she wasn't feeling like she would fucking implode or explode if he didn't _touch her_ somehow, but it was enough—more than, really. It didn't mean that he wasn't _finally_ pressing his body against hers, allowing her to feel his want for her.

And when they came up for air and she glanced over at Ben to make sure he wasn't getting some pervy free show, she couldn't help but smile—an actual, _genuine_ smile—the first of which she could remember since _before_. And it seemed to slide off of her face and onto Daryl's as he suddenly dipped down, letting even more of his weight drop onto her body as he whispered in her ear:

"I fuckin' love you."


	11. the resolute urgency of now

_**A/N:**_ **_okay, this thing is a beast, but i'm hoping the content and length make up for the uncharacteristically longer-ish delay in chapters (and because my four-day weekend is over and i don't know when i'll have time to get the next chapter up!)._**

 ** _here, we have our friendly trio completing the last leg of their journey to the meet up spot. will all their family members be there? will daryl and beth confront their feelings after daryl told beth he loved her? what comes next? find out the answers below (and more! probably way more than you ever wanted to find out)!_**

 ** _another huge thank you to anyone still reading, reviewing, favoriting, following or even thinking about this story._**

 ** _p.s. sorry if there are oodles of mistakes here...if they're distracting to you, let me know, i will gladly fix them. was in a bit of a rush editing this thing!_**

 ** _p.s. x 2: don't want to ruin anything, but if sexual situations aren't your thing, skip the last 1/4 or so of this one._**

 ** _xx_**

 **chapter 11: the resolute urgency of now**

Beth woke up feeling more refreshed than she had in a long time. She felt the heat of Daryl's body behind her, listened to his soft snores as she watched the sun rise off to the east, the bright pink hue of the morning light spreading from the horizon and expanding to the forest through every fissure and gap that the trees created.

Daryl's head was tucked closely behind her own, his nose nuzzled into her hair. His body was close and right up against hers, one muscled arm wrapped loosely around her front. And for a moment, she let herself feel the pure and untouched peace that everything around her was offering.

She glanced over to the tree nearby where Ben had been stationed while keeping watch the previous night. Noticed that he, too, was sleeping, gun in his lap with his finger loose on the trigger. Not entirely safe, but even that didn't spoil the peace she was feeling nor her mood—the best mood she'd been in since she could even remember.

Her mind didn't even wander toward the events of yesterday, thankfully, but she did allow herself to remember last night. And Daryl. His tenderness. How caring and good and perfect he'd been. The way he'd checked on her, let her know that he'd stand by her side, that she didn't have to do anything alone as long as she'd let him help, as long as she let him be there. The way he'd initiated their kiss, the way that they'd kissed and kissed and kissed, long into the hours of the night. The way he'd said he loved her.

She hadn't responded when he'd murmured those words, hot in her ear. Not verbally, at least. Couldn't really decide nor describe in her own mind how she felt about it. As she dissected it now, the possible meaning and implications behind his words, she decided that, for the time being, it wasn't a big deal. She wasn't going to make it one. Yesterday'd been an emotionally trying day for all three of them. Daryl had learned some things about Beth in a very traumatic way—not that she'd ever planned on telling him _any_ of that part of her past, at least not in the foreseeable future—and had watched her, no—helped her—kill a man without remorse, without respect, in what normally would seem to be a terribly cruel manner.

Beth could chalk his declaration up to impulse driven by the stress of the day or the heat of the moment or in response to all he'd seen and all he'd learned. After all, he'd kissed her for hours last night after just a day ago telling her that it wasn't right, that _they_ weren't right and couldn't do _this_. She wouldn't hold the words against him, wouldn't expect him to repeat them, wouldn't expect him to have _actually_ meant them, at least in a romantic sense. She wouldn't expect every night to follow to be the same as last night, a night when Daryl was an open book, for once, expressing himself with his lips and his tongue and his hands and his words. And that was okay.

She wondered briefly about the prospect of love, romantic love, in this world. She was well aware that it existed in its true form—she need only look at her sister and brother-in-law to find hard evidence of it. In all honesty, she'd mostly dismissed the hope or expectance of finding anything remotely similar a long time ago. Not too difficult to forget the notion after losing two boyfriends. Not that they'd been serious. Not that she'd imagined she'd marry them. Especially after the world went to shit. But still.

To Beth, it was _enough_ to have someone to hold her like this, because no one knew how much time they had left. She didn't quite understand her physical reactions to Daryl, as she'd never before experienced the burning need that, at times, had nearly consumed her when she'd been in his presence recently. She wasn't totally oblivious to the physical needs of humans. She just hadn't personally experienced them, not in this way at least. But she wasn't so naïve to believe that it—being attracted to Daryl, in this sort of way—automatically meant she was _in love_.

She felt Daryl move his head slightly behind her, startling her thoughts, which was probably for the best. They—she didn't have time for this. Didn't have the luxury of taking some love quiz in an issue of _Cosmo_ that would give her all of life's answers. They had shit to do.

Daryl stilled behind her, and Beth hoped he wouldn't regress to avoiding or ignoring her because he was embarrassed or ashamed or had regrets about the previous night. But then she felt him roll away from her and onto his back, heard his deep sigh and the sound of his hands coming up to rub over his face and eyes.

It were almost as if she could _feel_ him thinking. Too hard, too much. She didn't want him to overthink anything, not right now when they needed to be focused. They were going to reach the meet up spot tonight.

She rolled onto her back as well, letting one entire side of her body press into the side of his. She rolled her head toward him, and he was staring up at the sky, which was becoming lighter and brighter with each passing moment.

His jaw was clenched and the expression on his face was far from one of peace and comfort, which she was still feeling.

Beth turned onto her side to face him and lifted a hand up to his face, gently turning his head toward hers.

"No brooding, Mr. Dixon. No overthinkin'. I'm fine. _We're_ fine. Last night was the best night of my life, far as I can remember. So just. Don't. Just don't. Okay?" She whispered.

His eyes looked pained, but she felt the tension ease out of him slowly after she'd spoken. Beth knew they'd have to talk about it eventually. If he wanted to. But now wasn't the time.

He nodded and turned his face away from hers before standing and stretching. She watched his eyes shift over to Ben and then he shook his head, the scowl he often wore overtaking his face.

"Goddamn amateur," he grumbled.

xxx

As they continued their journey to the meet up location, Beth could sense a nervous energy radiating from each of them.

While Daryl channeled his energy in a physical manner, walking and hiking with fast and determined steps, Beth projected her own by concentrating on the path, on the lookout for tracks or signs of any threats.

Ben's energy bubbled out through his mouth. The man just wouldn't _stop talking_ as he trailed slightly behind Beth.

"God, I just can't stop thinkin' 'bout givin' my momma the biggest hug when we get there. And my sister. I can only imagine how excited she's gonna be to see me." Ben wasn't talking to anyone, really. He was aware that Beth and Daryl had both stopped responding long ago.

Daryl had even given up on his harsh requests for Ben to keep his voice down (not that he'd asked all that nicely), murmuring to Beth earlier that day, "If a walker comes for him 'cause he won't shut the fuck up, I ain't gonna stop it." Beth had shoved him lightly, shaking her head.

"But oh. Oh _god_. What 'bout Laurel's family? Oh, I just can't even think on how I'm gonna start to tell 'em about her." Ben's conversation and mood were both unstable, falling down deep into valleys after climbing up great heights. Beth understood, her own feelings of fear and anxiety and dread were clashing and mixing intermittently with excitement and, if she were being truthful, perhaps some hope, maybe even a little faith.

They stopped briefly to eat from the cans of food Beth had taken from the general store. Beth sat on the thick trunk of a fallen tree, swallowing down the contents of her meal without really tasting it.

She'd been too busy thinking to actually enjoy her meal—not that she would, anyway, since she thought of food nowadays as a simple necessity, just nutrients that she needed to keep going. She'd been thinking quite a bit about her family. About Ben's family and however many other Alexandrians had survived the journey—she felt with a decent amount of certainty that they'd discover that Laurel hadn't been the only casualty.

She voiced her current thoughts aloud without really realizing it until after she'd heard her own voice, quiet but echoing off of the trees surrounding them. "Wonder what we're gonna do. After we meet up. Rick never really said one way or 'nother."

Ben looked at her questioningly from the ground where he sat nearby. "What d'ya mean? We're gonna have to find somewhere to settle down 'fore winter gets here. Right?"

Beth shrugged. "Ain't always so simple, Ben. Places don't just pop up outta nowhere. None that last for long, anyway."

"Was thinkin' he'd probably still wanna go to Washington," Daryl said, standing a few feet away with his eyes down as he sifted through the contents of his can with a dirty, poor excuse for a fork.

"I dunno 'bout that," Beth said. She hadn't gotten the impression that Rick'd been interested in venturing to D.C. any longer, and for some reason she'd found some sort of relief in that. "Didn't seem like he was lookin' to go there. Not any more, at least."

"Think he just didn't wanna go in there blind, not with so many people. Probably set up camp at the meet up, send a small group to check it out, see if there's anythin' there worth bringin' all our people to." Daryl responded. Beth realized he was probably right. He'd appeared to take the position as Rick's right-hand man, even back before, when they'd been staying at the prison, and if Rick hadn't been thinking along the same lines, Daryl would probably suggest it.

Beth couldn't quite put her finger on her aversion to Washington. Wasn't fear, per se, as she'd never even been to the nation's capital. In another life, or if she were still the _old_ version of herself, she'd have loved the idea of going there—apocalyptic world or not—as she'd always been interested in history. But this wasn't another life. And she wasn't the same person. And she would likely continue to hope that, by the time they arrived to the meet up spot, Rick would greet them in excitement, telling them he'd found somewhere perfect for them to shack up in for the winter—maybe another prison or a warehouse or a mall or, really, anything, as long as it was far away from the city.

xxx

It was late afternoon when Beth had discovered and pointed out to Daryl some _very clearly_ human tracks. Daryl had crouched down, studying them.

"Yea," he nodded, sliding his eyes to Beth's for just a brief moment, and she'd thought she'd seen some evidence of pride there. "They're human. But we're just a couple'a hours away from the meet up spot. They're headin' in the same direction as we are. Could belong to our people."

"What if it ain't our people?" Ben asked, apparently still lingering in neurotic pessimist mode. Beth wondered if he'd even have any energy left to talk at all once they arrived and reunited with the others, between all the talking he'd done today and the anxiety he'd been exuding about virtually everything, whether or not it was actually warranted in some way.

"Then it ain't our people. And we deal with it." Daryl answered, rolling one shoulder. Simple. Straightforward. No bullshit.

Another look of fear passed over Ben's face, but they continued walking.

xxx

Before dusk had fully arrived, they approached the outskirts of the meet up location, which was still just a spot in the woods, but it was a relatively specific one. Beth studied the coordinates of the location, calculating mileage and time in her head though Daryl had assured her that they were merely several hundred yards away.

Daryl whistled long and low just after mentioning that he'd heard the faint sound of voices carrying through the forest.

After a few heavy moments of silence passed, someone returned the call. Daryl jerked his head in the direction of the sounds and continued walking, Beth and Ben close behind.

They reached the camp before the darkness had fully settled for the night. A large fire had been built in a small clearing of the woods, and the familiar faces of their family members soon became visible.

Not everyone had arrived at the camp yet, Beth noticed. Today marked exactly one week since they'd all parted ways. She wondered how long they'd give the missing people to arrive.

Rick greeted them with relief, side-hugging Daryl and strongly embracing Beth, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Maggie all but threw herself at Beth, hugging her and kissing her and crying all over her—followed quickly by bombarding her with questions about their journey. She'd even given Daryl a firm hug, thanking him tearfully for "taking care" of her baby sister.

As soon as they'd greeted their other family members (and a few Alexandrians, none of which were members of Ben's family), they'd all settled down around the fire. They weren't missing too many from their family, Beth noticed, counting heads. Carol, Michonne, a woman named Rosita (who Beth didn't know well but still thought of as family along with the others in that group), Eugene, and Tara were all sitting around the fire.

"So what now?" Glenn asked, directing his question at Rick.

Rick looked at him for a moment, appearing to work something over in his head, before responding. "Think we oughtta wait here for 'nother day or so. See who else shows up 'fore we decide anythin' major." His voice was hopeful; they wouldn't be going anywhere until they were sure everyone who'd survived had arrived safely at the camp.

Everyone nodded in agreement. Beth figured she'd be able to go hunting tomorrow, maybe with Daryl, hopefully to stock up on some food while they waited for the others.

"Anyone run into anythin' out there?" Rick asked the group. Beth dropped her eyes to the fire, hoping Daryl would speak up for their group.

She almost choked when, instead (yet unsurprisingly), Ben beat him to the punch. "Yea, shitloads of it," he'd said, eyes widening.

"Lots o' walkers. They killed one of my people, my friend." He'd apparently already shared this information with the people with whom he was acquainted from Alexandria. He spoke loudly, then, as he continued: "And then, we 'bout got murdered by them motherfuckin'—"

"Jesus, Ben. Take it down a notch," Beth said, cutting him off and recognizing the panic in her own voice as it rose above her companion's. She didn't want him to scare the others, mostly. But she also didn't want _him_ , of all people, to talk about the conflict with Robert and his people, who'd coincidentally been the same people who'd attacked Alexandria. And the same people with whom, coincidentally, Beth had had a run-in _before_.

He looked at Beth incredulously, shaking his head at her from across the fire where he sat among his people, as if he didn't know why she'd interrupted him.

"Bethie?" Maggie asked from beside her, bouncing Judith in her arms (which had been progressively causing a steady spike in Beth's anxiety).

She sighed, knowing now that she'd have to explain, one way or another. She glanced over at Daryl, who was staring right back at her from across the fire. He didn't show much of any type of expression on his face, but with a subtle nod, Beth worked up the courage to talk. To talk to her family as a group for, really, the first time since she'd returned (unless she counted that _whole-firing-a-gun-to-get-everyone-to-shut-up_ ordeal, which she didn't count because it'd simply been necessary and completely impersonal).

"We—I mean, the three of us-after Laurel was bit, we—uh. We came across a little town. 'Bout a day and three-quarters south o' here."

She took a breath, tried to get her brain to find and form the words that she wanted to say more clearly.

"We—we were scavengin' a bit, goin' through the supplies left in a few of the stores. Did a sweep before, didn't find no signs of anythin'."

She looked over at Ben, made sure he was okay with her telling this part. Understanding her nonverbal communication, he nodded.

"Daryl and I—we were in a store on the side of the street opposite of where Ben was," she took another breath, trying not to think about what'd nearly happened in that store between the two of them before they'd been interrupted. Felt her face grow faintly hotter and thanked _something_ that she could blame the fire if needed. Ridiculous.

"All of a sudden, we heard a man yellin'. There were four of 'em. They captured Ben. They were—they were just like—like the same ones who attacked Alexandria. Faces painted, all in black. Had guns. Said they was lookin' for some people who'd done 'em wrong."

Rick grimaced. "That far north? They came all that way t' hunt us down?"

Beth shrugged, nodding slightly at Rick, unsure if she should tell the rest of the story. Visions of Maggie sobbing and asking Beth repeatedly how she'd known them and what they'd done to her and about all her _feelings_ were filling her mind, causing her chest and throat to tighten. She fidgeted where she sat, not meeting any of her family members' eyes, as she remained silent for several minutes, trying to decide whether or not to keep talking.

"So what happened? How'd ya'll rescue Ben?"

"Did ya kill 'em all?"

"Were there others? Did ya get 'em to give ya'll any information?"

"Shit, that ain't that far away. They could be headin' here now!"

Voices echoed loudly, overlapping and chaotic, causing a ringing sensation deep within Beth's ears that soon bloomed and expanded within her skull, the pulsing sensation at the base of which was becoming increasingly less manageable each time the sound of another voice reached her ears. She trained her eyes on the fire, trying like hell to focus solely on the flames, to block out the noises and breathe through it.

She felt a solid body nudge her before she felt the weight of the one person she was sure she could identify by scent and some other, deeper sense alone beside her. She turned her head and curled herself into Daryl's chest as soon as he sat down. One arm awkwardly came around her shoulder then as he addressed the others.

"SHUT UP. All o' you. Don't know why 's so hard for ya'll to understand she can't take all o' this. Fuck's sake, ain't nothin' wrong with me an' I can barely stand it, neither. Did any ya'll even goin' to school? Learn anythin' 'bout talkin' one at a time?" Daryl's voice was angry, but his words were just—so strange, so strange that they caused an even stranger response from Beth, who kept her head burrowed into his chest as a small but true _giggle_ came over her. She felt her body shaking with it, felt the smile on her face widen so far that she was almost concerned that it would split open, as it was no longer really used to that sort of expression.

The group quickly fell silent after Daryl spoke, and he squeezed her shoulder quickly but tightly with the arm he'd flung around her. He leaned his head down then, just slightly, to whisper in her ear.

"If you don't wanna keep talkin', yain't gotta, Beth. But we gotta tell 'em, whether it's you or me doin' it."

She nodded, pulling herself back up into sitting, not meeting anyone's eyes. Daryl started to move, but before he could, Beth grabbed his hand firmly, keeping him in place beside her. He halted his movements without any protest, coming back down beside her, interlocking their fingers and resting them on the ground in between them.

Beth took a shuddering breath and felt Daryl squeeze her hand, and she tried like hell to absorb some of his energy, to use his encouragement to keep talking. Because it was the right thing to do for her family, no matter how badly it hurt her.

"The men told Ben they had to kill him, even though they didn't seem real suspicious of him. He did so good, told 'em he didn't know anythin' 'bout any people or towns, that he'd been alone. They didn't show any kind'a mercy, just dead-set on findin' us, our people."

She heard Ben whimper a little from where he sat, no doubt reliving what was likely the scariest thing in which he'd ever been directly involved.

"I ran outta the store to try an' stop 'em," Beth continued, ignoring Maggie's sound of disapproval from beside her. "Didn't know what I was gonna do. Daryl was in the store, knew he'd have my back. But when I got out there, I—the man who was in charge o' this particular group or these particular men, he—I—I'd, uh—I knew him. Didn't have no painted faces or black dress code when I was—when he, uh—when I knew him. Before. But I recognized his eyes, and he remembered me."

She swallowed hard, felt as if she could already feel the questions forming in her sister's mind, in everyone's minds.

"That part—well, it—it actually bought us some time. Got him talkin'. Told me they'd started paintin' their faces, wearin' black 'cause they didn't wanna be recognized f—for—'cause of what they do. Said only reason they'd left their home was 'cause of what happened at Alexandria, they were just out for revenge."

Beth paused briefly, hoping her attempt at glossing over the details was satisfying enough for the attentive crowd of people, whose faces she'd noticed wore emotions ranging from utterly pissed to nearly-pissing-themselves out of fear.

"Anyway, uh—the main one, one I knew, he got me close 'nough to the store where Daryl was that he was able to break the windows, caused distraction 'nough for Ben to get away. An' we—we took 'em all out. Ro—um, the main guy, he—he told us that there'd been a few groups of his people sent out to look for us, that they'd not be goin' any further north than Washington. That he figured probably most of 'em were headed back south by then."

"Think he was lyin'?" Rick asked, meeting Beth's eyes across the fire, and she wanted to just hug him for not dwelling on certain other parts of the story, for keeping his focus on the important part—the part that'd indicate what trouble, if any, they could possibly be up against.

"Not entirely sure," she answered truthfully, "but considerin' the position he was in when we—when we asked him, I don't know why he'd lie."

Rick nodded. "Well, 'm glad ya'll are okay. All we can do 's be prepared, people. For anythin'. Anyone else see anythin'?" No one in the group spoke, but the atmosphere among them had shifted from one of celebration and hope to one more similar to fear.

xxx

Daryl had volunteered for first watch, quickly dismissing Beth's offer to join him. She'd spent some time with Maggie and Glenn, who'd shared stories about their travels—about how brave Carl'd been when they stumbled upon a large horde of walkers. About Judith's help "keeping watch", as she hadn't slept well at night.

Only after Glenn leaned over to kiss Maggie goodnight and left the sisters sitting alone by the last remaining flames of the dwindling fire, did Maggie begin her inevitable interrogation.

"Bethie—those men. The ones you were tellin' us all about. How'd you come across 'em?"

Beth sighed, wondering if she'd ever have another night of peace—like she'd had the previous night—again.

"I don't wanna talk about it, Mags. Don't know how many times I gotta say that 'fore you give it up." Maggie was turned sideways with her body and face toward Beth, who kept her own face forward, watching the flames.

Maggie sniffed a little, and Beth cringed, praying that her older sister wouldn't start crying.

"Look. 'S not anything against _you_. I promise. I just don't wanna talk 'bout it." Beth said softly.

"Nothin' against me? I'm your sister, Bethie. Your _only_ family. If ya can't talk to me, then who's there to talk to? And you can't keep holdin' it all inside."

"Why not? Have been for months an' I'm still alive, ain't I?" Beth heard the sharpness in her voice, but she didn't care. She couldn't help it. This wasn't a damn therapy session. This was survival. And if she allowed herself to get lost in her past and all its terror, then there was no way she could move forward, no way she could keep surviving.

"Yeah, you're alive. But you ain't the same girl. You're—you're _cold_. You don't want anythin' to do with Judith. You barely talk. I ain't seen you smile, _not once_ , Bethie; not once since the prison. Ain't heard you laugh. Ain't heard you sing since before daddy—"

" _Stop_." Beth's voice was firm as she cut her eyes sharply to her sister's. "Just stop it. Yeah, okay, maybe I've changed. But, really, what did ya expect? For me to get _shot in the head_ and come back singin' Dolly Parton, clickin' my heels, laughin' and smilin' and doin' everyone's fuckin' laundry? Maybe I ain't got nothin' to laugh about, Maggie. Ever think of that? And I _don't_ sing anymore. And if you can't just be happy that I'm _here_ , then so be it. Ain't gonna skip around like fuckin' _Susie Sunshine_ for ya."

Beth held her sister's gaze for a few moments after she stopped speaking. Watched a single tear roll down Maggie's cheek, her lips quivering. She didn't feel any joy bringing pain to her sister. But Maggie just didn't get it, _couldn't_ understand, didn't realize the way in which she treated Beth affected her—pissed her off mostly, but it hurt a little.

"I'm just—I'm not the same. I know. I know it's gotta be hard. For you, for—for everyone. But it ain't somethin' I can just—just change, Mags. I read some medical books, back at Alexandria. Said personality changes're common, with a brain injury. Sometimes they can keep on changin', become more like they were, before. Can become more different, too. Ain't got no doctors. Ain't nothin' I or you or anyone can do, 'cept just keep livin', survivin'."

Beth did know how hard it must've been for her sister. But she was exhausted, only hours after they'd been reunited, from Maggie's constant questions, her hovering, her overly-exaggerated attempts to get Beth to react in some way that would satisfy her. None of it helped. Just pissed Beth off, made her want to close up, crawl inside herself and never come out or pretend she'd gone mute, or lost her sense of hearing, anything to not be subjected to it. To the disappointment she saw in her sister's eyes. To the hurt in her sister's eyes.

A smile that, to Beth, appeared mostly forced crossed Maggie's face as she nodded in response to Beth's words. "Then we'll wait. See what happens. Keep on hopin'. Livin'. Prayin'." She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Beth's cheek. "And I _am_ happy you're here. More'n you know, Bethie." Maggie got up then to go to sleep, quietly lowering herself to the ground beside her husband.

Beth directed her attention back to the fire, sighing. Fatigue had been settling into her bones earlier, but, after that, she was feeling more awake than she had since the early hours of the morning that she'd spent wrapped in Daryl's arms.

She lost herself in thought for a while, sitting there by the fire. Tried to work it out in her mind _why_ knowing about her past would be of such importance to her sister. She tried to imagine a situation in which their roles were reversed, but she still couldn't see herself being so fucking pushy. Overprotective, sure. Overly affectionate, okay. If she'd been the same person she was before. But she wasn't.

The quiet crunching of leaves in the darkness beyond disconcerted her momentarily, deep as she was in thought.

She quickly scanned the area in which all of the others were laying to see if the noise had awoken anyone before turning her head toward the direction from which the noise came. Listening closely, she heard it again just moments later. She stood then and silently made her way outside of the camp, ducking low under the string of cans and other objects with which they'd surrounded the area.

Through the dim light cast by the moon, she found Daryl, who didn't appear to be surprised to see her, which meant he'd likely shuffled around and made the noises purposefully for her to hear.

He sat on the ground, back against a fallen tree. Lifted his eyes to hers as she approached, cocked his head slightly to one side.

"Thought you didn't want me to keep watch with ya," Beth said.

"If I'd known your sister was gonna ambush ya like that the minute she got ya alone, I would'a let ya," he said, voice quiet and raspy.

She shrugged, wasn't as if there were any way he could've predicted that, though she'd had a pretty good idea that it'd happen sometime. She sat down then, next to but not quite touching him. She still wasn't sure about status of their relationship, or whatever the hell this was between them. She knew she enjoyed his company. Felt safe with him. Trusted him. Liked kissing him. Liked it when he kissed her and touched her.

She slid her body down so that she could lean her head back against the body of the tree, sighing in content, though she wasn't sure _why_ she felt more comfortable. Here. On the somewhat-damp and dirty floor of a forest somewhere in—shit, she didn't even know—Maryland? she guessed.

Daryl was quiet beside her, staring down at his hands, fidgeting a little with his fingers.

"Think everyone else'll show up soon?" She asked, simply to talk. About something. Something other than her sister, or what happened, or herself.

"Yea. Everyone whose gonna, anyhow," he responded, still quiet.

She nodded, rolling her head toward him and the movement prompted him to finally look at her.

"Ya did good, tellin' the others. 'Bout what happened. I would'a done it, but—"

"No. It was right. It should'a been me tellin' it. I'm the one who knew 'em, after all. It was just—hard, I guess." Beth looked down then, unable to maintain eye contact as she revealed yet another small piece of herself to him.

"'S'okay. Don't gotta be strong all the time."

"But that's just it. I _do_. Only thing's kept me alive, Daryl. Well—that and wantin' to find you, so I could tell ya ' _I told ya so'_." She smirked a little, nudging him lightly with her elbow.

He turned slightly more toward her. "What d'ya mean, ' _I told ya so'_? Ain't heard you say that, Greene."

"Well, I ain't had time yet." She replied simply, the smirk turning into an _almost_ -smile.

"Got time now," he said, crossing his arms over his chest, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"Nah. Timin' ain't right."

He huffed. "You're a pain in my ass, ya know that? Can't 'member now why I let ya come over here." She knew he was teasing, and it was an odd thing. For Daryl Dixon to tease _at all_ was odd, but somehow she found it charming, felt her heart flutter a little at the thought that _she_ was the person he was teasing.

"'Cause you know I'm better at keepin' watch," she teased back. "Think maybe ya need me to protect ya."

Daryl remained silent for a moment before quickly and without warning wrapping his large hand around her thigh, just above her knee. The pressure there made her want to squirm and laugh and punch him, all at once. He wore a look that some may've interpreted as anger, but Beth could see the mischief underneath the mask. And this was something new.

She tried to wriggle free but he wasn't letting up. Without moving his hand, he came up on his knees, pivoting in front of her and latching his other hand on the other thigh, squeezing them both, small smirk forming across his face as she struggled against him. She marveled at how this man - this complex, infuriating, kind, strong, confusing man - could be so moody and broody and _dickish_ one minute and so thoughtful and, as she was now discovering, playful the next.

Trying to get away and be quiet at the same time, she flipped over onto her stomach, hoping to knock his hands away. But he followed, flipping over along with her, keeping his hands in place.

" _Daryl,_ " she whispered, voice quivering with unreleased giggles at the tickling sensation. " _Stop_!"

He released his hands then, crawling over her as she lay flat on her stomach. He rested his weight lightly over her back, face near hers, hot breath sweeping over her ear and face and neck. He pressed a kiss to the spot just beneath her ear lobe, and she could feel the pressure as he gently sucked the skin there into his mouth. This, too, was new. And Beth _liked_ it. And a part of her knew that he'd gotten her to come over here, if not just to be in the presence of her company, to distract her in some way, to get her mind and thoughts far away from the discomfort she'd experienced this evening.

Beth hummed, reaching a hand up to grasp the back of his head and tangle in his hair as he continued to kiss her neck, her shoulder, the side of her face.

"Didn't hurt ya, did I? Should we check for scratches real quick?" He murmured into her ear as he peppered it with kisses.

She shook her head, not trusting her voice for the moment, and tugged his hair a little harder. And when he groaned, quietly but roughly, into her ear, she couldn't ignore the overwhelming burning sensation that'd been growing and expanding inside of her any longer.

Sucking in a breath, she flipped herself over onto her back, still underneath him, grabbing his face and dragging it down to meet hers, their lips crashing against one another with a sense of sudden urgency. He was holding himself back, but she couldn't take it anymore, she needed to feel something, some kind of friction or contact or _something_ , before she went insane.

She moved her hands from his face to his waist, pulling down with all her strength, and maybe she was begging. She couldn't tell where she ended and he began, or whose muffled words— _please, please, please—_ pierced the silence.

He finally gave in, giving Beth the weight of his body on top of hers, and she almost cried. She could feel the stinging behind her eyes, as she struggled to breathe evenly when she felt him against her, hot and heavy and hard and wanting everything that she did.

She brought her legs up on either side of his torso, wrapping them around his hips without thought; the motion, the way their bodies fit so perfectly, was all instinctual.

The action pushed them impossibly closer together. And his hands were everywhere—in her hair, bunching up in her shirt, grabbing desperately at her hips, her thighs.

He kissed her neck again then, and Beth was teetering on the precipice of something about which she knew next to nothing. She could feel the tightness in her body, something coiling hot deep inside her, aching for something, though she wasn't sure what.

"God, I need—" she mumbled, desperation and confusion and frustration in her voice. "I need you. Daryl, please."

His voice was just as desperate, breathless, as he sunk his teeth down into the flesh of her ear lobe. "Tell me."

She rocked her hips then in a way that felt both reflexive and reactive in response to his words—what he'd said, the way in which he'd said it, maybe both—and then she knew, remembered this from the first time they'd kissed. She opened her mouth, silent moan escaping, and repeated the motion, rocking up against him.

He groaned each time she did it, right into her ear as his head rested in the crook of her neck, and she knew then that it felt good to him too. And somehow it made her feel hotter. She reached her hands down, fumbling a little before grabbing the side of his hips, pulling them forward, trying to tell him without words that he could do this, that he didn't have to hold back, that she wanted it too, and it wasn't wrong.

Hesitantly, he began to push back against her, lifted his head up off of her so that he could see her face. His eyes were half-closed and glued to her. Sweat beads trickled down his face and neck despite the coolness of the air, and she lifted her head and pressed her lips to his neck, her tongue darting out to taste him. Whatever was building inside her was rapidly becoming unbearable.

She thrust her hips, then, along with his, finding his rhythm and keeping his pace, and the feeling grew and grew and grew until something suddenly snapped inside of her. Daryl seemed to anticipate it, bringing one of his hands up to cover her mouth as she trembled and bit down on his flesh, pulse after pulse after pulse of a feeling she couldn't even begin to describe rushing through her—it made her feel boneless, weightless, outside of her own body. She felt as though every muscle in her body were contracting, all at once, fluttering, flooding her inside and out. And—oh, god—the look on his face as he watched her. She'd kept her eyes open as long as she could, watching him bite down hard on his bottom lip, grimacing and whispering things so hot and in a voice so breathless that it seemed like it were almost out of his control.

He kept pushing against her even as she started to come back into her body, and she wanted him to. She knew the basics of this. Knew he could feel good this way, too, if he'd let himself. So she whispered things right back at him, squeezing his hips and ass and pulling him forward as he pushed back against her. And soon his movements became jerky and uneven and hard and fast, and his mouth fell open with his own silent undoing as he threw his head back and pushed a few more times before collapsing down onto her with a grunted " _fuck_ , Beth," escaping his mouth as he lay on top of her, catching his breath.

They said nothing. There were no confessions of love. No discussion on the rightness or wrongness of anything. No talk of labeling this—whatever it was. The silence wasn't awkward or heavy. It was easy, like breathing. They shared a smile before Daryl returned to a sitting position, pulling Beth up with him. He checked the skin of her abdomen and arms for any potential damage that the forest floor may have done, and when he was satisfied, he pulled her close to him.

And as the night continued, Beth eventually slid down, resting her head in his lap. No thoughts of the day were anywhere near her mind. She didn't feel troubled or worried or uncomfortable. She felt safe. And perfect. And then his hand came up, lightly brushing his fingers through her hair, caressing her skin and tracing her scars until, at last, sleep claimed her.

 _ **A/N Pt. II:** **I have never written anything remotely "smutty" before, so I'm interested in hearing what you think. Too much? Not enough? Wasn't originally planning on that scene, but that's where the characters went, and, again, I'm just the puppet. Daryl & Beth are making all the rules here. **_


	12. ain't no luck in these loaded dice

_**A/N: I stayed up WAY past my bedtime to get this one finished off. Not gonna lie, I'm not totally satisfied with it. But I have two busy days coming up and (even though I said this yesterday), I'm not sure when I can get the next chapter done and uploaded.**_

 _ **We are slowing waaay down in this one. But here's where my head's at: Beth & Daryl are obviously attracted to each other. Daryl told Beth he loved her, which to us is like OMG, but to Beth, who knows a lot about Daryl but not everythingggg, it could have been something he said because of how very traumatic that whole situation leading up to those words was. So she's not dwelling on it. She's attracted to him, trusts him with things that she trusts NO ONE else with. Because she won't let herself think about the past, she's not really even considering the feelings that may've been there before at this point. She is in the moment, and she likes him and cares about him and at the end of the previous chapter they shared something that, to me, was beautiful - a physical expression of one's desire for another person. The desire and attraction and emotions they feel toward each other. Even though he's been hesitant about all of this (though, again, he is UNSTABLE. I've never perceived him as the type of person who would be like YEP LOVE HER, GONNA BE THE SWEETEST GUY EVER AND BRAID HER HAIR AND BRING HER FLOWERS.), he gave in to the overwhelming desire for her - to make her feel good in whatever ways he can. Because that's what his love, in my opinion, would be like. But it's not gonna be all rainbows & unicorns. **_

_**In this chapter, we have a little bit of the morning after, some Maggie/Beth interaction, a whole lot of Beth introspection (which I feel we need after the events of the previous chapters), and a talk between Beth and Daryl that needs to happen. It's one of many more to come. But now that they are back with (some) of their family and Maggie is overprotective (and annoying, ugh), Daryl is feeling some pressure and some doubts, moreso than he had previously felt when it was just himself, Beth, and Ben. So they need to talk. And I'm telling you, if it feels confusing and all over the place and non-linear and maybe like it doesn't make much sense but at the end of it, something new and beautiful has been discovered, then I've written it the way I wanted to (and it was a bitch! I'm literally still in my work clothes and haven't moved since I got home...probably not healthy).**_

 _ **Next chapter, which I'm gonna try my hardest to have up by Friday, we will find out who (if any) of team family and/or the alexandrians have survived and arrived at the meet up. there will be more conflicts abound in more than one of the relationships, and the group will decide what their next move is, and it may not be pretty for our opinionated group of friends.**_

 _ **Leave me some feedback, please! Love it, hate it, I wanna know! I know we're see-sawing here, with 2 chapters ago Beth being the most badass version of herself I could imagine in a very action-packed few chapters to this one, where we maaaaybe make it through half of one day. But stick with me, if anyone's still out there!**_

 _ **p.s. - again, apologies if there are numerous mistakes. i need more hours in a day damnit! feel free to point out errors.**_

 _ **xx**_

 **chapter 12: ain't no luck in these loaded dice  
**

"C'mon, wake up, Beth—ya gotta get up 'fore someone comes over here."

Beth awoke to Daryl nudging her, tugging her hair, whispering that she needed to get up. She was confused initially, as she opened her eyes and saw that the world remained dark around her.

Her head was still in Daryl's lap, she realized, as she rolled her head toward his voice. His own head was tipped downward, looking at her, anxiety and alarm lighting up his eyes despite the darkness.

"What the hell?" She asked, voice rough with sleep. "It ain't even morning."

"No, but it will be soon. An' if your sister comes over here—"

"Who cares?" Beth grumbled, instantly becoming even more irritated at the mention Maggie. She rolled her head back down, nuzzling his lap.

He pulled at her ponytail again and she swatted a hand at him. And then he did it again.

She pulled herself into sitting, scowling at him.

"The fuck's it matter?" She asked, actually getting a little annoyed at _him_.

"What? You want people to come over here, see us like this, start assumin' shit's goin' on?" He whispered, gesturing between them.

"I couldn't care less what people choose to assume." She replied, letting a little of her irritation saturate her words.

"Well, you should." He turned away from her, pulling out his pack of smokes and plucking a cigarette from it.

"Why?" She asked. And though she was still mostly just annoyed, she was actually a little curious about his line of thinking. He'd told her he _loved_ her. And yeah, she hadn't planned on ever using that against him, but, were it true, then why the hell would Daryl care what anyone else thought?

"Don't act stupid," he replied, distantly, exhaling a cloud of smoke in her direction.

"Now you're callin' me names?" Beth was becoming increasingly confused. Increasingly pissed off.

"I said don't _act_ stupid, not that ya were. There's a lotta shit goin' on right now, Beth. Best if we just keep this 'tween us, for now." His voice had lost a bit of its hard edge.

Beth stared at him for a moment. She guessed he had _some_ point. Everyone _was_ tense, waiting on the rest of their group and family members to arrive. After hearing about the men who could still possibly be out there somewhere, hunting them all. Deciding what to do next. There _was_ a lot of shit going on. But she didn't understand what the two of them had to do with it. They kissed. They dry humped, messed around a little, touched each other. Slept beside each other, like they had the previous night, not to mention the several other times, _before_. It weren't as if they'd eloped overnight and adopted 10 babies to add to their group.

Beth shrugged. "I don't get it. But whatever you want, Daryl." She grabbed the cigarette out of his hand and took a long pull. Handed it back to him. "Ain't gonna act like I don't fuckin' know ya."

"Didn't say ya had to do anythin' like that, Beth." His voice was quieter now, and he wasn't looking at her anymore.

She sighed. "Whatever. Was thinkin' we'd hunt later, if ya wanted."

He didn't respond, so she stood and turned away, started walking back toward the camp site. "Find me, I guess, if ya want."

Xxx

The sun was just barely beginning to ascend into the sky as she approached the camp, again ducking under the wire alarm system. She heard a few people moving around, few others still snoring.

"Where you been?"

 _God. Damnit._

She lifted her eyes then from the ground, spotting her sister sitting on a blanket close to the fire pit, a softly crying and cooing baby Judith in her arms.

"Oh—hey, Mags. I was just talkin' to Daryl. Seein' if he wanted to hunt later. Figure it'd be best if we stock up a bit, while we got the chance. Don't know what's gonna happen after the others get back." Beth kept her distance from her sister and the baby as she spoke.

Maggie kept her eyes on Beth's for several minutes before speaking again.

"So, then, what'd ya go over there to him for last night?" Maggie's voice was light and feigning curiosity, though Beth didn't miss the subtle suspicion. She knew her sister well enough to know when she was legitimately curious or trying to collect information.

"I woke up. To check on Judith. Couldn't find you," she continued when Beth didn't respond. Offering some sort of explanation to her questions, Beth supposed.

Beth shrugged noncommittally. "He was bored. Wanted some company. Wasn't exactly tired after playin' 21 questions with you."

Beth saw Maggie flinch slightly at her words. But she wasn't going to lie. Not about this. Maybe keeping her past to herself was lying in some way, though Beth didn't exactly agree with that opinion, but, really, she had nothing to hide.

Maggie's tone changed then. "Maybe instead'a huntin', you could stay here. Hang out with me. And Glenn. Judith. Carl's missed ya, Bethie."

Beth sighed. "We really need to be thinkin' 'bout gettin' some food to store for the winter. Animals ain't gonna hunt themselves."

"Pretty sure Daryl can handle it, can't he?" Beth began to feel the back of her neck tighten, right around the area where her skull and cervical spine were joined.

"I'm sure he could, but I still have a lot to learn," she retorted, small and uncomfortable throbs spreading rapidly over the posterior aspect of her head.

Maggie was the one who sighed then, leaning down to press a kiss to Judith's head and whisper sweetly to the baby.

Relieved, Beth kept walking further into the camp, finding her pack and pulling out one of her blankets. Decided to try to catch a few more hours of sleep. Felt as though she may need all the sleep she could get, if the early hours of the morning had been any indication of how the rest of the day would proceed.

Xxx

Beth sat next to Ben on the ground near the fire pit, drawing random patterns in the layers of dusty earth beneath her with a jagged stick. The sun had nearly reached its highest point in the sky, and she was beginning to feel antsy.

The Alexandria residents sat nearby, talking quietly, wondering where _this_ person was, or _that_ one, gossiping about their fellow townsfolks' fates as if this were all just one giant episode of _Survivor_.

Her own family members were nearby, off in their own small circle, Judith apparently providing them with some sort of entertainment. She hadn't seen Daryl in several hours, figuring he was getting some much-needed sleep.

She blocked out the noise surrounding her as best she could; in some way, she appreciated the (uncommonly) silent company of Ben, who appeared to be lost in his own thoughts.

She took the pseudo-quiet time to think about the past several days, what all she'd seen and done and wanted. Wondered if she were feeling what she ought to be. Should she feel shameful or guilty, for killing another human (though it certainly wasn't the first – but that'd been _before_ )? Didn't think of herself as a ruthless murderer of innocents by any means, but it _was_ decidedly difficult for her to allow her mind to travel to that particular recent incident.

Should she feel vulnerable for revealing to Daryl, who was just as confusing and frustrating as he'd ever been, her secret absence of pain sensation? She trusted him, really. Knew he wouldn't use it against her in any way, unless it were to save her life. She wasn't ready to reveal that part of herself to any other person, and she'd be lying if she didn't admit that it was actually kind of astonishing that she'd revealed it at _all_ , and so easily, to him.

She didn't have to ask herself whether or not she'd felt some embarrassment, or at least self-doubt, about the previous night and what'd happened between her and Daryl. She had. But she didn't regret it, letting herself feel something good. Making him feel good. Falling asleep with his hands on her in a way that almost felt as though he'd been worshipping her.

At the moment, the thing that made her feel the most uneasy, aside from her sister and their entire relationship, was Daryl's words that morning, how he reacted, how he implied that the most terrifying thing that could happen in the near future was for others to assume things about them and their relationship.

As elusive and secretive she was about her past – which, to Beth, was for good reason (because _it didn't matter_ ) – she wasn't keen on playing pretend about anything _now_. She'd been through a lot and, because she knew herself, she knew that, if she allowed it to, her past, her _before_ , could consume her. It could stop her from _wanting_ to survive – she was absolutely sure about that.

But _now_. Now she didn't want to waste the effort on pretending to be something that she wasn't. She wouldn't do it for her sister. Wouldn't do it for Rick or Judith or Carl. Wasn't planning on doing it for Daryl, either, though she was interested in whatever his thoughts were.

Xxx

Not long after her introspection, she met Daryl's eyes across the fire pit. He stood back, away from the two groups of people, on the outside of the lines bordering the camp. He didn't say anything, but she knew to follow him.

She snuck a glance over her shoulder, finding Maggie and the rest of her family still sitting around, playing with Judith, looking at her with adoration despite the minutes that kept ticking and the undercurrent of worry and concern she knew that they all must've been feeling about the rest of the family arriving safely.

She stood quietly and left the camp site without being noticed.

She stalked out into the woods, following the tracks Daryl had left behind. She quickly found him. He had his crossbow, strings and belts to carry any game they'd potentially manage to capture back with them.

He was leaning up against a tall tree, the leaves of which were so high that Beth's eyes watered as she tried to look up at them. He was facing away from her with his head bent down slightly, one hand up by his mouth. She knew then that they wouldn't _just_ be hunting.

"Get some rest?" She asked, deciding to start with some harmless small talk.

He nodded, lifting his head up then, still not facing her.

She stepped closer to him, her heart rate increasing a little – the reason for which was lost on her. Fear? Excitement?

When she was just a few inches away from him, she lifted a hand to his shoulder and rested it there lightly. He obviously wanted to say something.

He sighed, shook his head, looked up at the sky for a moment.

"Daryl—" Beth started, dropping her hand, moving around to the side of him. "Whatever it is. You can say it. Ain't gotta be worried or 'fraid or anythin'." And she meant it. She'd listen to him, because she cared about him.

"I'unno," he said quietly. "I'unno how to do any o'—this." He glanced at her sideways, just briefly.

"Any o' what?" She asked, hoping he'd clarify.

He turned toward her then, still leaning against the tree but facing her full-on. The sun hit the side of him in a way that made him look younger and so, so tired at the same time.

"I don' think this—" he began again, this time gesturing between them with a hand, "is gonna go over all that good. With everyone else." Beth noticed how difficult it seemed then for him to keep his eyes on hers.

"Well, _this_ —" she responded, mimicking his gesture, "ain't anybody else's business, Daryl."

He sighed and looked down at the ground.

"What?" She asked, feeling a little despondent at his apparent lack of willingness to even respond to her opinion on the matter. "It's not, is it? Why the hell should anyone care?"

"Just how people are."

"Better yet, why the hell should _we_ care if they care? Or 'bout what they think?"

"'Cause we gotta stick together. We can't let this come 'tween us and everybody else in our family." He raised his voice, just a little.

"If someone in our family lets it do that—lets how we feel 'bout each other, or—what we do or say or think cause any problems, then I ain't all that sure they were family to begin with," Beth said. She was being honest. Completely honest.

"The fuck you think your sister's gonna think, huh? I'll tell ya, she's gonna think I took advantage of ya. Gonna think I'm some sick old fuckin' redneck fuckin' her goddamn little kid sister—"

"I am _not_ a kid," Beth cut him off, voice hard. "And if she thought you took advantage of me—it's simple, Daryl, really—I'd fuckin' _set her straight_."

He shook his head, letting a small humorless laugh erupt from his throat as he began pacing a little.

"Ain't that fuckin' simple. What d'ya think your daddy'd think? Huh? Think he'd be proud of his baby girl, slummin' it with a man old enough to be _her_ daddy?" Daryl stopped pacing, leveling his face with hers as he kept talking, kept asking these nonsensical questions that _must've_ been driven from some insecurities, the nature of which she wasn't certain, that were the only _actual_ issues here.

"Don't fuckin' talk about _him._ He's dead. Ain't here. Ain't got an opinion." Her voice was louder now, echoing a bit in the small clearing of the forest, as she kept her face right up in his.

"Jesus, Daryl, where's all this comin' from? The hell happened between last night and this mornin' that's got ya all freaked out about this?" She had to know.

"Ain't freaked out," he said with a defensive tone, stepping back and away from her as if she'd insulted him. "Just seein' it for what it is."

"And what's that, exactly?" She wasn't going to back down or let this go until he'd finally just fucking _say it_.

"I told ya how I feel 'bout you. It ain't nothin' new, neither." He shook his head, made a noise that sounded like something between disgust and humor. "Ain't ever told anyone that. Not out loud. Not since my ma. Don't say it just to say it. Still don't make it right though."

Beth clenched her jaw, kept her eyes on him, allowing him whatever space and time he needed to continue.

"Ain't right for me to want ya like this. Tell ya that I love ya like we're in some goddamned romance novel. An' I can't figure how I decided all of a sudden that s'okay."

"Is it me?" She asked, her voice softer. "Was it 'cause I kissed ya? Did I fuck your head up again?"

He scoffed. "'Course ya fucked my head up. But ya did that long 'fore ya ever kissed me, Beth. Long 'fore ya ever got shot in the head an'—an' died, 'fore ya came back."

He stepped closer to her now, his actions contradicting his words – or maybe they weren't, Beth was so terribly confused – as he brought a hand up to palm the side of her face, training his eyes on her lips, rubbing one corner with his thumb.

"Think I felt it—before," he whispered, rough and low, knowing without actually and definitively knowing that to voice it – to refer to that time period, when they got to know each other, when they each had discovered what they were missing in the other person – would unfurl some kind of pain inside of her.

"But—but you didn't want a damn thing to do with me, when I first came back. Didn't talk to me for weeks. So if ya wanna talk 'bout fuckin' someone's head up—"

"'Cause I fuckin' got you _killed_ , Beth. 'Member what ya said? How it ain't no fun, thinkin' 'bout all the stupid shit ya done? Lives ya risked? Ain't just you." He dropped his hand and she thought she saw something distantly sad in his eyes as he spoke.

And his words made her flinch. Angry. "Told you I didn't wanna talk 'bout _that_. And that you ain't got a thing to feel guilty about. God _damnit_ , when are you gonna stop blamin' yourself?"

Beth didn't know how or why or when this conversation had turned into what it had. First he'd told her he thought it was _wrong_ – how he felt, what he wanted – and now they were back to this. Back to his guilt. His self-loathing. And she was beginning to wonder if this is all they could ever be. A fucking merry-go-round of kisses and confessions of love on one side and fighting and blame and anger on the other.

"I know you don't wanna talk about it, Beth. _I know that_. And I ain't _never_ gonna make you talk about it. But I need to—need you to hear _me_." And for just a moment, if she'd let herself think about that time – _before_ – she felt a strange sense of déjà vu, like they were back there, back at that moonshine shack, just the two of them, expressing their deepest fears.

"Need you to know that my head, it's – haunted by it. That car, drivin' away, you inside. Your blood, sprayin' all over my face. Carryin' ya down five flights o' stairs, blood an' tears soakin' your shirt. Leavin' you in that – in the fuckin' _trunk of car_ 'cause there weren't no time to do it proper. You—"

" _FUCKING STOP!"_ Beth screamed. She was panicking, images and images and images flooded her brain, invading her entire _being_ through every orifice. Her breaths were coming fast and hard but none of the air made it to her lungs and she was choking on it – the words he said and the thin, inadequate air and the thoughts and the memories and the blood and the pain, the _searing pain_ that she'd felt, when she'd been shot, when she'd dreamt, pain that she couldn't even feel any more—

Her hands covered her ears as she sank to the forest floor, curling her knees into her body and squeezing her eyes shut tight, trembling, fighting the burn behind her eyes.

And she didn't know how much time passed before she felt his hands cover hers, slowly bringing them down and away from her face. Heard him whispering things about how he loved her and he was sorry, so sorry, and that everything would be okay.

And when she finally opened her eyes, he was bare on top before her, vest off and shirt unbuttoned partway and looped around his neck like some fucking plaid scarf – and she heard the laugh escape her mouth before she'd even realized it'd formed, and she knew, this was _it_ , she was _finally_ losing her shit. All of it. What the hell was he doing and why? Not that she minded the view, but what the _fuck—_

She hadn't realized her eyes had been wandering - sliding down over his muscled chest to his solid abdomen, to the strong and rigid structure of his pelvis and hips - until he lightly placed a fingertip under her chin, tilting her head upward to his face.

Slowly, he turned around, pivoting on his knees to present his back to her. And through her near-hysteria, she saw them. Scars. Everywhere. Old. White and light pink. Some raised and rigid and others deep divots creating craters in his flesh. Each was a little different – in shape and size, in direction, in the pressure that must've been needed to create them. She didn't react in any particular way to them. No surprised or horrified gasp or sharp intake of breath. No tears. No spoken words.

His head was bent down, and she could tell without seeing that he was fidgeting with his hands. And, as she lifted her hands to trace them, she knew that this would be okay. That she could explore this part of his past, like he had hers, without the need for words.

She didn't ask any questions as she brought her face forward, eyes stinging a bit but dry and focused and intent, and pressed her lips to all of them that were within reach from where she sat, there on the floor of the forest. And she didn't miss the silent tremble that passed through his body when her lips and tongue brushed over and continued tracing them – these pieces of him, these missing pieces of him.

After some time, he shrugged his shirt back on without buttoning it and turned around to face Beth. His face held no discernible expression from what she could tell, except for one. Understanding. And she felt a strong pull inside of her, tugging at her belly and her heart. A gratitude that she couldn't express. An awe that, despite all of his strength and all the strength she knew he felt he _needed_ to exude, he'd shown her this. Trusted her with this.

She felt overcome with the most chaotic spectrum of emotions. She couldn't untangle them, decide which, if any, were permeating her the most strongly at that moment.

She understood, then, his insecurities. His doubts and fears. Though not identical in nature, they were derived from the same places as her own.

And this wouldn't solve everything – she was certain of that. Wouldn't fix everything. But it was some kind of progress or evolution or growth of the two of them. And, vain as it may've been, it made Beth feel better that she wasn't the only one with a past she wanted to bury and forget about. That Daryl wasn't the only one who'd been trusted with keeping the scarred secrets of the past from the world.

Their eyes met then, a blazing fire of blue on blue, and they went for each other at the same time, hands grabbing for the other's face as their lips crushed together. And Beth couldn't stop her hands from wriggling inside his still-unbuttoned shirt, searching and finding the flesh of him, the scars and the strength, and she moaned as the skin-on-skin contact there set all of her nerve endings on fire.

And in turn, Daryl's hands came to the hem of her shirt, drifting upward just enough to skim along the scarred skin above the waistband of her jeans, and the action made her tremble and moan and hum into his mouth as she licked into it with her tongue. And it was like they were more connected, then, than they'd ever been. More than when they were flush against one another the night before, when they were thrusting and wanting and hungry.

The depth of what they were doing – what they'd done, what they could do – had overtaken the senses of each of them. So much so that neither of them had heard a sound – not the wind, not their own heartbeats, no footsteps –

"What the _FUCK_ is going on here? Oh my god, _Beth,_ is that _you_?"

The piercing shrill of Maggie's voice, however, was another story.

Daryl, shirt still unbuttoned and lips swollen, immediately removed his hands and backed off and away from Beth.

Beth sighed unnecessarily loudly before turning around to face her older sister.

And when she took in the sight of Maggie, eyes huge, face twisted up in a ridiculous grimace, one foot _actually_ stomping on the ground with impatience at the lack of any form of response, Beth laughed. An _actual_ laugh. Not one driven by hysteria or lack of oxygen to the brain or to illustrate the _lack_ of humor in this situation. She covered her mouth after the sound escaped her, but, upon seeing her sister clam up even more, looking absurdly like a cartoon character with her eyes darting from Beth to Daryl back to Beth, she laughed again.


	13. my heart is my armor

_**A/N: I'm such a liar. I was like, hey, CL, you got home earlier from work than anticipated, maybe you should go to bed earlier than 2am! And I was so gonna. But then, as I was taking a shower, all these ideas and words that I wanted - no had \- to say just popped into my head. What is my life even? Seriously hope people are actually enjoying this. This was the chapter I planned on getting out tomorrow. But, since I'm apparently obsessed, it's here now (and it is, technically, tomorrow). **_

_**Lot going on in this chapter with the following warnings: CHARACTER DEATH. MINOR/ORIGINAL CHARACTER(S) DEATH, BRUTAL SIBLING BICKERING, MAGGIE BEING AN ANNOYING TWAT BUT WE MIGHT ACTUALLY CRACK HER. AND FINALLY SEXUAL SITUATION(S). The last of team family/alexandria arrive. stuff happens. they make a plan. some people don't agree with said plan. shenanigans ensue. beth and daryl are, almost, the most stable people/relationship in this particular chapter, but don't expect that to be a pattern.**_

 _ **Next chapter: Our team's next plan commences. Not everyone's gonna make it out alive. Beth progression (she does in this chapter as well - it's going to be a slow process, but we'll get there).**_

 _ **Thanks to anyone out there reading this!**_

 _ **Leave me reviews. And love. Might be the only thing that gets me through the work day starting in, oh, ya know, a couple hours. WOO NAPS!**_

 _ **Same apologies for any errors apply.**_

 _ **xx**_

 _ **UPDATE 11/6: I HAVE RE-EDITED AND RE-UPLOADED THIS CHAPTER. IT MIGHT STILL SUCK, BUT MAYBE THIS WILL HELP.**_

 _ **Hope to have next chapter up this weekend.**_

 _ **chapter 13: my heart is my armor**_

Before Beth had the chance to even begin to explain the situation between herself and Daryl to Maggie (not that it was any of her business, in Beth's eyes), the three of them, still frozen in the small clearing of the woods, heard the distinct sounds of yelling. Sounded like Rick's voice, maybe Carol's.

Maggie stared at the scene upon which she'd stumbled another moment or two before mumbling something about checking to see what all the commotion was about and abruptly leaving Beth and Daryl to head back toward the camp site.

Beth turned to face Daryl, who was now standing, head down as he buttoned his shirt. She was worried he'd feel some needless guilt or shame or embarrassment after being caught by her sister, just minutes after discussing – if _that's_ what all of that had been – the possible repercussions that could result from being discovered. She worried that he'd stalk away without saying a word to her, that he'd be caught up in fear and anxiety and whatever else he might be feeling.

So, she decided to try and make light of it for his sake. Maybe a little for her sake too, but mostly for him. Because he looked uncomfortable.

"Well, she did say that she wanted to hear me laugh. And now we don't have to have any awkward talks…"

"Real funny," Daryl snapped, though it wasn't exactly anger that she heard there in the tone of his voice. "C'mon, let's go see what's goin' on back there."

Though she couldn't quite interpret the tone of his voice, she was glad he'd at least responded. And as he passed by her, he lightly but purposefully pressed a palm to the small of her back, guiding her to follow him.

They returned to the camp site in silence, partly because they didn't want to bring any undue attention to themselves, but also because the yelling and speaking they'd heart moments ago had ceased – suddenly and completely. And Beth was fairly certain that that wasn't a good sign.

They spotted their family members and the Alexandrians standing around in a circle at the camp. _What was it with these people and their circles?_ Beth wondered to herself, dancing on the edge of panic as she took it all in. Saw the reddened faces and heard the soft sniffing as they inched closer. Felt the pit of her stomach drop, felt her heart thudding more rapidly in her chest.

Abraham and Morgan were standing somewhat to the outside of the circle of people, both wearing unreadable but decidedly solemn expressions. Beth's steps became stuttered and stunted, wondering what exactly she was going to see or hear or know if she kept pressing forward. Daryl gave her a small nod when she stopped walking when they'd come within a few yards of the others. He continued forward, leaving her standing on the outskirts of their people.

"The fuck happened?" It was Daryl's voice that broke the cloud of silence surrounding the rest of the camp.

She watched as Abraham, his ass wound apparently still healing, hobbled his way around the outside of the circle, grabbing Daryl's arm and pulling him even further off to the side. Beth took an instinctual step backward. Saw the look on Daryl's face and decided that it'd be better for her to stay out of the way – of whatever the hell was going on – for the moment. At least until she was sure that whatever had happened – whatever was causing the foreboding silence to change to quiet sniffles to louder sobs and murmuring – wouldn't cause her to react in a way that'd be completely counterproductive. She'd already experienced one panic attack today.

As much as she tried not to, she overheard several bits and pieces of the discussion between Abraham and Daryl. Or, rather, Abraham's account of what'd happened. To _Sasha_ \- Beth had to swallow in exaggeration to rid herself of the lump in her throat at the mention of her name, this woman who'd been with them – who'd been a part of their family – since the days of the prison. One of the few remaining from _before_.

And just as she felt herself begin to tremble as she pieced together that Abraham's group, which had consisted of himself, Sasha, and two Alexandrians, had been attacked by people from the same group that'd attacked Alexandria, she saw him.

 _Ben_. Sweet Ben, his face red and swollen with thick snot running down onto his lips, was backing away from the circle, as if whatever was there, inside of it, were a ghost chasing after him. He was shaking his head in what could only be described as _utter devastation_. Disbelief. Denial.

She saw him turn towards her and, because she'd been unable to look away, his eyes met her own. And then he started toward her even as huge sobs began to possess and rack through his body.

Beth took a half-step backward, deliberating running away from this – this _fucking nightmare_ – when Ben crushed his body up against hers, nearly doubling over in order to rest his head on her shoulder, and wrapped his thin arms, so impossibly tightly, around her body.

She stood there, arms hanging limply by her sides, as he sobbed into her shoulder. She knew she was shaking, shaking so hard that maybe it was somehow transferring through her body and into his, because it felt as if they were rocking back and forth, the two of them. She reached up one arm hesitantly, wrapping it loosely around his waist.

Ben turned his wet face into her neck, hot tears soaking her skin there.

"My momma. My sister. They're – they didn't make it. Those _motherfuckers_ , they – tried to take them. Where they took you. Tried to – oh, oh my _god_. They killed 'em. Both of 'em. _Oh my god_."

His words were jumbled, distorted by the sobs and the spit and the snot and the _pain_. Beth understood. And she wanted to tell him, so badly, that, if the choice had been between death and that torture camp, then they'd gotten lucky. Because even if they'd survived it, made it out of there somehow, it'd just be a shadow, a huge and infinite spot of darkness branded upon their souls. Forever.

But she didn't say any of that. Just allowed him to cry and grieve and mourn.

Daryl's eyes were on them, as were many others', and what she saw in them was a touch of helplessness, a sadness overlying a huge depth of anger.

xxx

Later, they buried their dead. Because that's what they did. Sasha, who'd died defending Abraham. Esther and Billie Jo Hanks, Ben's beloved mother and sister, who'd been attacked and taken only to be found beaten and shot (and, if Beth had to guess, probably also raped) hours later by Morgan, who'd traveled alone but trailed the other group closely. The two men had somehow traveled the last two and half days carrying the lifeless bodies of the women.

When it came time to honor them, Beth could feel Maggie's eyes on her face. But Beth kept her eyes on the ground, blocking out the sound and smell of death that surrounded her – the death that surrounded them all. She didn't cry. Didn't pray.

In the end, Morgan had been the one to say a few words as they marked the graves of their fallen as best they could.

Soon, the waves of anxiety and fear began to sharply crest among the members of the group. It was nearly tangible, the feeling. The attack had been just two and a half days' worth away from them, toward the south according to Morgan and Abraham, who'd guessed that the men had continued on southward based on where they'd run into them and where the evidence of their most recent crimes had been discovered.

People were beginning to ask questions. Let their opinions be known, loud and clear, whether anyone had asked for them or not.

"Rick, we can't stay here. 'S not safe, staying in one place. Gotta get these kids away from here." Michonne's voice had been soft, her eyes moving from Rick's to the youngest Grimes child, who lay sleeping nearby.

"Where the fuck we gonna go, all of us?" Abraham asked.

"I reiterate and stand by my previous statement that, statistically speakin', within a reasonable distance, Washington holds the highest probability for us to discover any means of sustainable habitat," Eugene chimed in.

"Washington is a bit south of here, though. Those men – the ones who – it happened south'a here." An Alexandrian this time.

"Yeah, I ain't goin' any further south," another one agreed.

"Could try and track 'em, couldn't we, Daryl?" Carol asked.

Daryl rubbed his chin, thinking for a moment before shaking his head. "There's multiple groups o' 'em out there, if they're still out there at all. Trackin' 'em ain't gonna do shit for us."

"Well, how do we know they aren't just – ya know, out there? Right now? Listenin' to us, waitin' to attack?" Another Alexandrian.

"And what about the others – the ones who still haven't shown up?" Tara this time.

Beth's head was beginning to throb as she tried to control her breathing. She was _trying_ , so hard. Trying to be a contributing member of this family. But it was so damn difficult. And she didn't blame anyone for being concerned and asking questions and suggesting ideas. She just couldn't keep up with it all. Words and voices and sounds all blurred together, and she had to turn her head away, toward the sun that was beginning to sink beyond the trees.

"Okay. A'right," Rick said, projecting his voice above all the others. "I know. It don't feel right, sittin' here, like some ducks waitin' to be drowned. And Washington is the closest an' most populated area 'round here. But it is to the south. We need to move. But ain't gonna go guns blazin' straight into DC. We all – most of us – we - well, we saw what happened to Atlanta."

Beth cringed at his mention of the name of the city. The city where she'd died. And she knew just the thought of a city was probably what'd made her so skeptical and, were she being truthful, afraid of pushing forward into DC.

She could help with this, if she wanted to. Provide some clarity, some information. She'd been surprised no one had asked her, since they knew she'd had interaction with the offending group before. Before. But perhaps that was out of respect. Or maybe Daryl'd warned them, threatened them.

Didn't have to be anything major. She could just mention one thing. One thing that might help everyone arrive at a decision. Probably wouldn't even be heard by most, not over the still-present chatter.

"It's a lot further south," she said, without much thinking. And to her dismay, the chatter stopped. Heads turned to face her, eyes glued to her scarred face and her broken words.

"The – the place. Where those men came from. It ain't anywhere near Washington. 'S a lot further away." She said, voice quivering a little as she spoke.

She could feel Maggie's eyes on her from where she stood close by. But she wasn't thinking about that. She was thinking about the safety of her family. Of her friends. Of the only people she had left. Because, really, what good was her revival if she didn't do this – or try to do this - help her family, save them.

"Beth?" Rick questioned. "You're sayin' ya think we'd be safe goin' on into DC?"

Beth suppressed the shudder at the mention of the city. Forced her face to hold no expression. Shrugged.

"Ain't sayin' it's _safe_. Can't say that 'bout anywhere. Just sayin' it ain't nowhere near where those men live an' do – what they do. Alexandria was much closer. Makes sense they'd go there. Their luck in At – in Atlanta must'a just run out. Or somethin'." And she was being honest. She didn't know what lengths these men would go to for revenge. But there hadn't been all that many of them at the farm when she'd been there. Forty or fifty if she had to guess. And now, since several had been killed during the Alexandria altercation and she and Daryl had taken out another four, including one that'd belonged among the list of the "very important people", it was hard to tell how many of them were even left. And they'd had to have kept a group at the farm at all times to watch over all the women that they - that they kept there.

"I mean, even where we are now – it's far. It's been over a week. I'd be willin' to guess that, if they were tryin' to predict our whereabouts, based on where these two run-ins happened, maybe DC would come to their minds 'fore some random place out in forest. But I ain't sure they're anywhere near here."

Rick nodded, absorbing the information. Working it over in his mind.

"'S gettin' dark. Ain't goin' anywhere tonight. Best if we kept a couple'a extra people on watch for the night. Keep the fire low an' only if it gets too cold. Somethin' happens, head north, don' look back. Holdin' back another night'll give the rest of the ones who're missin' a little extra time. But we can't wait here forever for 'em." He looked to the Alexandrians, whose expressions ranged from fearful to angry to agreeable. "Don't agree with it an' ya wanna wait on past tomorrow, 's up to you."

"So where we gonna go?" Glenn asked.

"Think it'll be best, we send some of our people north, based on what Beth's told us. An' then a smaller group can head to Washington, scope it out, see if there's anythin' there." Rick said, voice becoming more confident with each word. "Makes the most sense. Can't all of us risk goin' the same direction at the same time an' expect to keep together. Not when we got kids and people who're injured. We can come up with another place to set up a temporary camp for us to all gather once we can get an idea 'bout Washington."

Beth glanced at Daryl, remembering his words from a few days ago. He'd been right. And, yes, she was still fearful. Of so many things. But she was relieved, on some level, that they weren't going to put all their eggs in one basket and assume that they'd find some utopian sanctuary. They'd be safe this way, with multiple plans. She trusted Rick. They all did, as even the Alexandrians settled down, admitting that, despite the few still missing from their community, staying here wasn't the safest move. Not when they'd been settled here for so many days; the evidence of their camp and livelihood would remain days later. Winter would soon be encroaching the world, and the need for finding something safe and stable and _enough_ would become more and more vital as the days continued to pass.

xxx

Night had arrived and brought with it a cruel chill that made even the trees howl. Beth was lying on the ground, trying to stop the chattering of her teeth. They'd built the smallest fire possible just for the safety of the children, everyone offering blankets for Carl and Judith and the few younger Alexandrians who remained.

Glenn and Maggie were nearby, wrapped up in one another. Maggie'd offered several times for Beth to move closer to her, to share the body heat and extra blankets, but Beth had refused. Rick, Morgan, and Abraham were keeping watch, and though Daryl had been on guard duty the previous night, she'd inferred that he was sticking by the other men, based on the fact that she hadn't seen him since before she'd found a spot to sleep a few hours earlier.

"Ugh, _fuck_." Beth whispered to herself, trying to curl up and into her own body for warmth. Her skin felt tight and taut and it was almost uncomfortable to force her eyes closed. So she let them linger open for a while longer. She found Ben, who'd cried himself into an exhausted sleep, and let a twinge of sorrow for the young man to whom she'd managed to grow close. Closer than she'd imagined growing to anyone else, at least.

She let her mind wander, within reason, realizing she wasn't as fearful now about the plan they'd on which they'd all sort-of decided. It was the most practical, most logical thing to do. She just hoped her inevitable insistence to go with Daryl, wherever he went – likely to Washington – wouldn't be questioned, and the part of her that'd decided to _hope_ about that was ridiculous and entirely wrong, the rest of her knew. Not that she gave a damn what anyone else's opinions were on the manner, she just didn't know that she'd have the energy for any more arguing or fighting or tension.

Eventually, she drifted into an uneasy sleep. At some point in the night, the uneasiness transitioned into comfort. Into warmth. It was formless, and she was uncertain if it were merely a figment of her imagination - a mirage, maybe. But as she let herself sink further into it, she really _could_ feel it - warmth that only one person could provide for her. And then she knew it was him. By the way his silent breaths blew onto the wisps of her hair. By his scent, leather and smoke and sweat. Unsure if she were dreaming, she tucked her body in close to his as he wrapped himself around her, and she felt the tension leave her body for the remainder of the night.

xxx

Beth woke up alone though she was almost certain that Daryl had slept beside her for most of the night. Swore that she could still feel the warmth of him, the heat radiating from his blood, the very essence of him, which pressed into her skin and, deeper, into the layers of herself and her insides as much as the outsides of her, from his own.

The day was very young, dim light just rising above the edges of the earth, causing the sparkles of the frost overlying the trees and the last of the living underbrush to glisten in a way that could cause blindness from its beauty – a contradiction from the biting chill still lingering in the air – alone.

She saw Rick and Daryl standing just outside the camp site, deep in discussion. Planning the division of the group, Beth guessed. She was prepared to defend what she'd already known she'd chosen to do against anyone that might decide to challenge her.

Daryl skimmed the camp site, catching Beth's eyes as she offered him a greeting by way of a jerky nod. She couldn't determine his expression nor his demeanor from where he stood. But somehow she knew that he'd do whatever it might take to keep her – and the rest of their family – safe. Breathing. Living.

As the sun became visible from behind scattered clouds – none of which appeared to be indicative of rain – Beth had hesitantly taken a few moments to spend with Carl. He didn't say much, but she knew he was hurting. Afraid. Of what could have happened. Of what had happened. Of what could still happen. And she saw so much of Rick within him. Lori, too. They gathered the last remaining green plants that they could find – maybe they were just weeds, Beth wasn't sure – and tied knots around them with thin but strong shavings Beth had made from some tree limbs. Placed them on the three graves just outside their camp.

"Always hated it," the young boy said, as Beth crouched beside him, staring without expression at the grave sites.

"What's that?" She asked, trying to look into his eyes, though they were mostly covered by the thick hair falling down around his forehead.

"That we weren't able to do this –" he gestured at the graves and poor excuses for decorations they'd made, "for you. When you died."

"But I didn't die," she responded, without truly thinking about her words. It was unintended, the referral of herself as living. Not something she often did. More often she simply identified the death of the _old_ Beth Greene and the birth of the _new_ one. And the times in between, uncategorized and non-linear in quality; _before_.

"Maybe we shouldn'a buried them, either. Maybe they would'a came back, like you." The boy said, and the hope in his eyes was heartbreaking.

"Don't think that's how it works, Carl."

"Well, there must be some reason. Why we all thought you was dead. And then you came back." He looked into her eyes then, and she saw the puzzlement and the impossibility and the wonder there, of a child who was quickly becoming a man - one who'd seen so much in his short life but still had the ability to experience something that truly astounded him.

"There must be some reason." He repeated, as he stood up, wiped his hands on his jeans, and walked away.

xxx

"No fucking way, Bethie."

Here it was. The inevitable argument that Maggie just couldn't seem to bring herself to avoid for just _one damn day_.

"It's what I'm doin', Mags. I can track. I can hunt. I'm the only one who knows anythin' 'bout the group." Beth said, defending herself and her decision to go with the small group to Washington. Like she knew she'd have to do, though Rick had accepted Beth's proposal immediately after hearing her reasons. Daryl had vouched that she could hold her own.

She would be going with them and two other Alexandrian men (who'd volunteered for reasons that weren't all the clear to Beth) as well as Michonne to DC while the rest of the group, guided by a map that'd been simplified and drawn carefully by Beth and Daryl, would head north. Four, five days' worth maximum. Daryl had hunted in the early morning hours, Beth had discovered, leaving the other group with enough food to last for several days.

She didn't expect Maggie to just accept it, because ever since she'd returned she couldn't accept much of _anything_ as far as Beth was concerned.

"Why's it make sense to send both our best trackers with ya'll?" Maggie challenged, hands on her hips.

"Babe, they gave us the map. Between you and I and not to mention Carol and Abraham, we have more than enough man-power and capability to do this," Glenn had said, stepping slightly between the sisters.

"I just don't get it. You'd be safer with us an' you know it, Bethie." Maggie's voice was becoming shaky, anger close to surfacing. She couldn't listen to any reason, whether it came from her sister nor her own husband.

"Is this all 'bout Daryl? An' whatever the hell's going on between you two?" Maggie snapped then, raising her voice loud enough for all but the walkers to hear. Beth glanced around, noticing that no one was really paying much attention besides perhaps Glenn and several Alexandrians. But still.

"You don't know anythin' about it," Beth spat back. "And it ain't any of your business, anyhow." She wasn't going to discuss this in front of _any_ people, especially when she couldn't say with certainty that she truly _knew_ any of them any more.

"I'm your sister, Beth! Everything that goes on with ya should be _my_ business!" Maggie shouted.

"Really? Sorry, I thought I was an _adult_. But, since it's all your business, Maggie, do ya wanna know when's the last shit I took?" Beth snorted. She couldn't be anything but real, not right now, not when her sister was knowingly causing a scene at her expense. At least Beth had the decency, the courtesy, to lower her voice as she continued. "Wanna know how much I believed in you, after the governor? How much I fought to keep my faith that you were out there, lookin' for me much as I was lookin' for you?"

"I always believed in you," Maggie whispered, eyes watering.

"Didn't see no fuckin' sign left for me." Beth said, and finally she'd had enough. She didn't truthfully blame her sister. And she didn't want to think about that time, when she'd been alone, wandering aimlessly after waking up in Atlanta, following the train tracks out of town, finding the sign her sister had left for Glenn. And never found any such sign directed towards her.

And that's when she'd stopped looking for signs. Until she'd escaped Robert and the farm. Then the only signs that she'd looked for were the ones that she knew were there, somewhere; all she had to do was remember how to read them.

Maggie stared, mouth agape, trying to form some semblance of an explanation, an apology, that Beth didn't want to hear. She'd said enough. Too much, really. But if that's what it took to get her to let go and let Beth do what she knew she needed to do, then so be it.

And as she turned away to join the rest of her smaller group, the members of which were still in the planning stages, Maggie reached out for her. In desperation, maybe. Because she couldn't find any words, maybe. Because she was beginning to spiral so rapidly that she needed to grab something - physically, metaphorically - to anchor herself to the earth.

"Maggie, let me the fuck _go_!" Beth yelled as soon as she realized Maggie'd had a hard grip on the thin material of her shirt, which was long-sleeved (like she always wore now) but meant to be worn as an undershirt.

Maggie's grip only hardened before her other hand came up to join it, and as she pulled on one side and Beth twisted angrily and vehemently around in the other direction to try and shake her, the force of the torque caused the shirt to shred, frayed edges splitting right into two down the middle. In her efforts, Maggie'd forced one of Beth's arms to pop out of the now-torn sleeve, exposing half of her back in addition to her front. Exposing her marked up skin. Her marked up past.

Beth felt her face grow hot instantly. With anger. Embarrassment. Shame. Betrayal. Not as if there were a crowd of people around them, which there hadn't been. But this wasn't something she wanted to reveal to _her_. Not now. Not in this way - this violent way that had spawned from some fear and need for control that Maggie had begun to express more vigorously as the days had passed.

"Beth, oh my god. What is – what the hell happened to you? Oh _god_ , Beth, there're cuts and scars – what are – who did this to you?" Maggie was forcing herself onto Beth now, running her hands over the marks and scars and ridges and skin tears even as Beth struggled, swatting her hands away, begging her to stop, to just leave her the _fuck_ alone.

Beth's eyes were stinging, throat closing up in panic. But she managed to turn around and face her sister one last time.

"Are you fucking happy now?" Desperately, she tried to arrange the shreds of the shirt to cover herself.

Daryl was there in an instant, shelling off his vest and covering Beth as best he could with it, pulling her tightly into his arms.

"Wh—"

" _No_." Daryl cut her off, voice sharp. "'S enough, Maggie. You done enough. Let her be. Ya'll need to hit the fuckin' road anyway, if you're gonna make it to the first stop by the end o' the night."

"You do this to her?" Maggie asked, a hint of venom in her voice. "'Cause, _so help me_ , if you laid a _fuckin' hand_ on her, Dixon, I'll – "

And with that horrible insinuation that came out of absolutely fucking nowhere, Beth shattered. She spun around quickly in Daryl's arms, vest and shirt hanging wide open and she didn't give a shit, not now. Not as she forcefully flung her arm forward, hand connecting sharply with Maggie's cheek.

"HEY! Okay. Just _stop_ , both of you," Glenn's alarmed voice, again trying to step in between the two sisters.

Maggie's hand immediately lifted, palm protectively resting over her cheek, look of shock in her eyes.

Beth couldn't be sure how hard she'd smacked her. Didn't feel any stinging sensation, no pain in her palm. But she'd crossed the line. And if they planned on ever mending their relationship in any way, Maggie had to know that much.

Beth swallowed, looked down briefly before lifting her eyes to her sister's. Felt Daryl's protective embrace around her, arms circling her hips from behind.

"I'm sorry, Mags. But it's like - like ya gave me no choice. Don't listen. Just talk and talk and ask questions till you're blue in the face and my head feels like 's gonna explode. And if I wanted to answer 'em, I would'a. If I wanna tell ya 'bout things, I will. But don't go around accusin' people of shit. 'Specially not Daryl. 'Cause if ya think he'd ever do anythin' like _this_ , then you know him just 'bout as well as you know me anymore."

Maggie's eyes held some understanding, Beth noticed. Wasn't the most noticeable thing they held, because she was shocked and hurt and maybe even _sorry_ , but it was enough.

Beth nodded, holding her sister's gaze a moment longer. "Travel safe. Few days, we'll be back. We can talk, s'long as you're willin' to listen a little too." She turned then, Daryl's arm around her shoulder, and walked away.

xxx

While the northbound team departed that afternoon, the team that'd be heading into Washington had decided as a group to wait one more night at the camp site. Just to make sure no one'd been trailing them, that no one had followed the others. Beth and Daryl had searched the surrounding area after the others had left and identified the tracks that, thankfully, belonged only to their people.

Daryl and Beth offered to take watch for the bulk of the night, for which Beth was relieved, as she hadn't spent much time with nor had the opportunity to talk with him much with the chaos of the last few days.

"Nobody's gonna ask you anythin'." Daryl assured Beth, referring to the accidental exposure of her flawed skin.

She shrugged. "Already know I was with a bad group o' people. Sure they're makin' their own assumptions. Don't care. Feel like I overreacted. With Maggie. Could'a hurt her bad. Could never see her again, who knows."

"Think she needed that," he responded quietly.

"You know she doesn't think that way of ya, Daryl. She's just – hurt, or something. That I don't tell her 'bout every little thing any more. That I'm not the person she wants me to be. Wouldn't even make sense, if she'd thought 'bout it for a minute before openin' her damn mouth."

He shrugged then. "Doesn't matter. S'long as you know I ain't that way. That I'd never hurt ya, not like that."

She leaned up then and pressed her lips to his, each time feeling more brazen and confident, despite the instability of their moods.

She meant for the kiss to be chaste, but she wouldn't and couldn't deny him when his tongue licked along the seam of her lips, seeking entry. Their kiss deepened, then, tongues caressing, each exploring the other's mouth. And he turned more toward her now. Hand crept up her shirt (which had been replaced), like it had a few nights ago, fingertips skimming along her lower belly. As if he craved the skin-on-skin contact as much as she had, as much as she did now.

And she couldn't understand it, how she could flip so quickly, from slapping her sister across the face to feeling such immense hunger for this man. The lines between her emotions were so incredibly blurry, and she'd come to realize that maybe life's too short, too unpredictable to not chase after the ones - the emotions and feelings and actions and words - that were good; that made her good, that made him good.

She mimicked his action, shoving a hand up under his shirt, running her fingers along the hard lines of his abdomen, the strength of which was so enticing to all of her senses. His roughened breaths only encouraged her and she was quickly feeling that heat again, low in her belly, throbbing at the apex of her thighs.

He seemed to sense it, how she was becoming silently desperate. Maybe it was in the way that her tongue was everywhere, teeth nipping and sucking and biting. Maybe it was in the way that she, mostly unconsciously, clenched her legs together, seeking some relief - anything - to suppress or satisfy the aching there.

He slid down then, telling her in a mumbled, breathless voice to " _keep watch_."

He lifted her shirt up to just below her breasts, his mouth instantly coming down onto her flat stomach, swirling and sucking on her skin. And though she knew the scars were there, he didn't skip over any inch of her skin, kissing and licking and nuzzling her wherever he could. He kissed down further then, just above the waistband of her jeans, fingers skimming lower, just beneath it, along the top of her underwear, stroking her so gently but with a need she felt so strongly within _herself_. A need - to feel him and everything that he wanted, everything he was, on her and inside of her - that shot through her, white-hot and so quickly that she thought she might die if he didn't touch her.

Breathing heavily, she reached her hands down, interrupting his actions for just a moment while she quickly unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans. She didn't move them. She didn't know how far this was going. But they felt like they were suppressing some part of her, some part of this.

She should've been embarrassed by the dirty white cotton underwear, elastic stretched and material thin. But when Daryl dropped his eyes down to her, seeing this new part of her – another part she felt comfortable enough, willing enough to reveal – and shook his head and said "you're so fucking perfect," she didn't give a shit about what she was wearing. Or what her skin looked like. Or that she couldn't feel it if a bullet pierced her skin right now. Or if her sister was sad and hurt and disappointed in what she'd become.

Daryl looked up her, sucking in ragged breaths, waiting for Beth to make the next move. He ran his fingers, again, along the edge of her underwear with a patience and hesitancy that was saturated in primal need and desire. And she nodded and groaned "please" and then he was dipping his fingers underneath the fabric, moving them downward, slowly but with deliberation, until he found what he was looking for. And when he did, his mouth dropped open and his lips formed a grimace as he groaned as if he were in actual pain and hissed and sucked in a breath and told her how _wet_ and _perfect_ she was.

And then his fingers were inside of her, where no one else's besides her own had ever been, and after he'd stretched her, letting her become accustomed to the size and texture and feel of him, she thought it _had_ to be the best feeling in the world – to endure the days of painless pain and then feel as if she'd discovered the meaning of everything in him, in the way he was touching her.

He pumped his fingers in and out of her in a gradually building rhythm, even as he licked and bit at her hip bones, other hand frantically caressing and feeling the rest of her body, up further into her shirt, grazing lightly over her covered breasts as she arched her back and let out breathless whispers that sounded like his name, god's name, strings of curse words that were anything but a curse right now. And suddenly she felt the wind against a bit more of her, as he'd pulled her underwear down just enough to latch his mouth onto the bundle of fibers while continuing to thrust his fingers at a quickening pace. This was something new, but she didn't feel ashamed or afraid because as she moaned at the sensation, quietly but loud enough that he could hear, he moaned right along with her, timing his grunts of approval with her own. As she tugged his hair and squirmed, he used his free hand to hold her pelvis and the prominent bones there down to the ground. And the feeling of being restrained was a heady thing, one she'd only previously associated with torture and fear and death, that somehow caused her toes to curl and her hands to clutch harder at his hair, unsure if she were pushing him away or pulling him closer.

And when she started to thrust her hips, just a little, she felt him start to bite and lick and suck her most sensitive spot with such hot intensity while swearing harshly – about her fucking beauty and how fucking wet she was and how he wanted her so fucking bad – in between heaving, wet breaths. And as he worked her with his mouth, with his hands, with his words – she let the waves, with which she was now slightly familiar, overtake her, willingly, let the slick heat flood the insides of her and down in between her thighs as he continued licking and kissing her while she saw the bright, faceless visions of stars and angels and demons with angel-wing vests in the darkness behind her eyes.

He was trembling when he let up, at her urging, and she cradled his head on her chest and he kissed her neck and told her she was beautiful, that he was glad she was here, that he didn't know what he'd have done if she'd really been gone. And that was a conversation for another day, another night.

He climbed off of her, and she lay her head in his lap again, feeling him so hard beneath her that it sent another shock through her overstimulated body. But she when worked up the courage to reach her hand out, to reach for him, because she wanted to make him feel good too, he stopped her movements and instead laced her hand with his own.

Her last thought as she drifted to sleep was that, no matter what these next several days would bring, she'd have this. A memory, one that she'd never be afraid to visit. And those were rare for her, now. And she thought how great it'd be, if the old memories, the ones of death and pain and betrayal and loss, could all be replaced by these. Maybe they could if she'd let them.


	14. you glide through my head blind to fear

_**A/N: 3:15 AM sounds like a good time to add a chapter, no? This one was rough. Our friends are headed to DC, and they find something - well - disturbing there (also something I've been planning on since the beginning). WARNINGS FOR: minor character death, general creepiness, sexual situations (more intense than usual - skip the last of this chapter if it's not your thing), and WAY TOO MANY FUCKING WORDS.**_

 _ **Next chapter: journey to meet up w/team family (again) - several people have several things to discuss. confrontation abound, and maybe a resolution or two.**_

 _ **let me know what you think.**_

 _ **ps. edited. though i periodically edit/re-upload because i have a touch of ocd/neuroticism.**_

 _ **xx**_

 **chapter 14: glide through my head blind to fear**

They weren't far from Washington. It was about a day and a half's worth of walking from the meet up spot – which would now become known as the _first_ meet up spot, Beth supposed, since now there was a new one to which they'd be traveling after exploring Washington – and Beth was hopeful that it would be enough time for her fears to dampen. And she wasn't sure that _fear_ was the most accurate description of what she'd been feeling about this journey. Apprehension, maybe. Unease. Something.

She'd tried to reconcile with herself that her feelings were wrought from the less than pleasant experiences she'd had in metropolitan areas since the turn. Classic association fallacy. Just because her life as she'd known it had ended in "city A" didn't automatically mean that the life that she now had would end in "city B". There, she was being optimistic. Maybe.

At any rate, she felt _secure_ with the other members of this particular team. Even if she discounted her – _whatever_ – with Daryl, the bottom line was that he made Beth feel safe. Always had, as far as she could remember. And though she didn't want to think of all the reasons _why_ , her trust in Rick and Michonne had never faltered. Wasn't keen on the two random Alexandrian men – Thomas and Chris – but Rick had seemed fine with their volunteering.

They'd walked most of the day before setting up camp. Talk had been scarce among them thus far. Thomas and Chris had engaged in quiet discussions on the other Alexandrians who'd still not arrived at the first meet up spot before they'd left that morning.

Rick and Michonne were intent and focused. The two of them just clicked somehow – as leaders, as people, as enforcers – and in a way that Beth hadn't recognized right away. Like Rick and Daryl, they'd created their own language, always in tune and in sync with one another. She wondered what she and Daryl looked like as they hiked through the forest. An image of a stray dog - coordinating the complexity of its four legs to ambulate with fluidity and able to track the faintest scent of blood but scruffy and sad and easily lost - walking alongside a battered and scarred runaway or an orphan delinquent popped into her head.

"Think we oughtta go huntin'." Daryl's voice interrupted the images and scrambled thoughts in Beth's mind.

She nodded, agreeing, since they'd left what stock they'd acquired with the others back at the first meet up spot.

They left the others to set up camp for the night and get the fire started.

These woods were the same as the rest had been, though they'd walked across a few roadways during the day. Searched a few abandoned cars but didn't find much of value. Saw a few walkers, same as the rest had been. The major – and only, really – difference had been the higher frequency with which they'd come across water sources – small creeks and runoffs from the rivers that passed through the surrounding areas, mostly.

Daryl was all business as they hunted, quickly killing a few squirrels. As he bent down to tie the lifeless creatures to the string around his belt, he handed Beth his crossbow. Wasn't nocked, so she'd grabbed for an arrow from Daryl's quiver (though she absolutely knew she didn't have the strength to nock it) just as he began to stand. She managed to retrieve the arrow without elbowing him in the head, but he frowned at her anyway.

"Give me that. 'Fore ya – oh. Shit. What happened? That from the bolt?"

Beth noticed then the thin stream of blood flowing down her arm, dripping down and off the tips of her fingers onto the forest floor beneath them, dampening the sleeve of her jacket (which she'd promptly removed) and shirt. It appeared to originate from a spot on the inside of her upper arm, where she'd apparently managed to stab herself with the business end of the bolt she'd grabbed.

"Damn," she said, rolling the sleeve of her shirt up. "Guess we know they're sharp." She pushed the fingers of her other hand to the small puncture wound into her flesh to try and stop the blood flow.

Daryl glared at her, clearly not amused with her quip.

"'S that easy," he said, shaking his head. "You could walk into a tree in the middle o' the night an' impale yourself with a damn limb an' not even know it." There was an accusatory hint in his voice that made Beth glare right back at him as she continued to apply pressure.

"Yea. And you could trip over my body and fall into the mouth of a walker," Beth shrugged.

"'S different. 'S like you're gonna have to have – I'unno – fuckin' _supervision_ rest o' your life."

"Nah. Think I'd eventually feel the blood runnin'," she said, voice light as she removed her hand from her now-dried wound.

Daryl didn't reply, and Beth guessed it _would_ be something bizarre to have to process. Something that'd take some time for others to get used to. But it was something she'd been living with for months, and, like the rest of her past, her choices were between dwelling and worrying or accepting and moving on.

As she started to pull at her sleeve to cover her arm up, Daryl spat in his hand and began wiping the drying trail that lingered there, from her bicep to her fingertips. She watched his face, edges of it wrinkled with intense concentration, as he did his work. And it was altogether a strange time, Beth supposed, to start to feel that throbbing sensation in between her legs, that heat that seemed to radiate outward and upward and inward from her belly, but she couldn't control it – the magnetic pull of his hands, his lips, his neck – any more than she could the progressively chilling weather.

Spit bath finished and needy thoughts quelled for the moment, they continued their hunting. Beth managed to hit the third rabbit she'd tracked. She'd insisted that Daryl not give her many cues, to let her try and apply what he'd been teaching her and, for the most part, she'd become much more efficient with tracking. Her shot still needed some work, but she was also shivering as the time began to hover between _day_ and _dusk_. They'd headed back toward the camp after she finally made the kill, Daryl huffing with impatience and hunger.

Xxx

Chris, the Alexandrian, was relatively familiar with Washington – the layout of its streets, location of significant landmarks and tourist attractions. He, Rick, and Daryl were closely studying the map to determine some sort of route by which to travel as they all sat around the fire, finishing their meals.

"How long we plannin' on stayin' in the city, exactly?" Chris asked.

"Hard to tell. Don't know what we're gonna find. Maybe a white house full o' survivors, maybe a walker for a president," Rick responded, shrugging.

"Think we should pick a few places, maybe split up to check 'em all out. Ones most likely to've been protected. We can pick a spot to meet up at once we're done, can all tell what we found. If anythin'." Beth sighed at Chris's mention of yet another meet up location, wasn't sure how she felt about the seemingly constant pattern of splitting up they'd taken to. Though it would mean less time spent in the city. But also less reinforcement and support if shit went bad.

"How do we choose where to check?" Michonne asked.

"I'unno," Chris admitted. "There were a lot o' secure buildings there. S'pose we can pick one place for each of us to check out—"

"Nah, ain't safe to be alone," Daryl cut him off, not meeting his eyes (nor anyone else's).

"Can get t' more places that way," Chris retorted, looking to Rick for support.

Rick's and Daryl's eyes met across the fire, then, and they had a silent conversation, with which Beth had become entranced from where she sat on the other side of the pit next to Michonne.

"He's right. We got no idea what we're gonna be walkin' into," Rick said, nodding toward Daryl while addressing Chris. "Groups o' twos. You two, me an' Michonne, Beth an' Daryl."

Chris shrugged. "Whatever ya'll wanna do. Then I guess we can pick a place for each group o' two to investigate. Then, if anyone sees anythin' else that looks promisin' in the area, they can look into it if they want?"

Rick nodded. "Yeah, 's good. You're the only one's been there, can remember it some. So y'oughtta be the one to pick our assignments, send us in the right direction."

"Yeah. Shit. Well, o' course there's the white house. Big ol' art museum, think I 'member 'bout where it's at. History museum, too. Big one."

"A'right. We're gonna be enterin' the city from the northwest side. So maybe, first street sign we see, we call it the meet up. If we leave 'round dawn, we'll have near an entire day to check things out," Rick said.

The plan seemed fine. If they walked into a monstrous horde of walkers, all they'd need to do is turn around. Had plenty of ammo left. Disaster plan was to head to the _other_ meet up spot if all hell broke loose.

"We can try t' leave a message, somethin', if anyone decides to leave the city to meet up with all the others. Leave somethin' on the ground, somethin' by the street sign." Rick said. He'd appeared to have fallen into a trance, which was typical behavior for him when he was planning. Like he were watching it all unfold inside his head. And Beth wondered then what he saw.

Xxx

Hours later (or so it felt), Beth lay wide awake, curled up in a blanket between Daryl and Michonne. Thomas and Rick were on watch tonight. Chris had stayed on the other side of the pit and Beth was thankful for that, though he seemed trustworthy enough.

Beth wanted so badly to curl herself into Daryl's arms. He was within reach but hadn't made the slightest bit of physical contact with her when he'd dropped to his own blanket beside her earlier.

She was restless. Wanted to get this shit over with and know what the next move was. That's how she was surviving, how she'd been surviving for so long. _Plan, plan, plan_. Be two steps ahead. Keep moving. Keep breathing.

She was lying on her back, arms flung out to her sides, palms facing up and near either side of her head. She wished it were morning. But somehow dreaded it.

She felt the tiniest bit of pressure on the inside of her forearm and jostled it slightly as she assumed it was an insect or a leaf or a blade of grass that'd somehow survived this long. She felt it again, then, and this time it trailed down toward her elbow with just a bit more pressure. Enough so that she turned her head and saw that it was the tip of one of Daryl's fingers, trailing up and down and back again. His touch was warm in comparison to her cold skin, where goosebumps formed on the outside of her arms and spread upward, tickling her neck and scalp.

When his finger circled inside the palm of her hand, she flexed her fingers and squeezed his within her grip. He sighed quietly then and scooted his body very slightly closer to hers. Rolled onto his side facing and she felt him wiggle his free hand under her blanket. He let it rest on the top of her thigh, squeezing gently.

She felt the need to thank him, then, for distracting her. From her own mind and its endless loops of nothing and all too much at the very same time. But she didn't want to startle anyone or make him uncomfortable. So, instead, she filed this memory away into the back of her mind, into the separate space she'd created there, the one used to store only the memories she'd willingly kept.

Xxx

They were standing at the edge of the city, after passing through a few eerily quiet suburban areas, just as the sun appeared above the horizon in its full form. Though she'd expected it in some ways, Beth was still amazed that even this place, this city - the home of the leaders of this once-great country and the historical landmarks honoring the heroes standing proudly within it – was just like any other after the turn. A ghost of what it'd once been.

"Resurrection Street," Rick said, spotting a street sign.

Chris nodded and began giving directions, explaining a bit of the layout of the city, though Beth felt it didn't matter much. It may've once been comprised of the organized grids and quadrants that Chris described, but now it looked like just another wasteland.

Rick and Michonne would check out the white house in the center of the city. Daryl and Beth were going to the art museum, which was to the east. Chris and Thomas would investigate the history museum, located furthest south.

"Let's try to be back at the street sign 'fore dusk. People's missin' then, wait it out til' the mornin' if it's safe. Check 'round the area next day. Then leave, no matter what." Rick stated his final addendum to the plan as they all walked into the city. They'd stay together until they reached the structures – if there were any left – bordering the white house, then they'd split up.

The city was quiet but not empty. They took on one small group of walkers as the white house came into view. Rick nodded toward Beth and Daryl as he and Michonne stopped at their designated location.

Chris and Thomas split off then, heading straight south, while Beth and Daryl set out to the east.

"It's too fuckin' quiet," Daryl murmured as he repeatedly scanned the areas surrounding them.

Beth tried to remain calm, kept one hand resting on the handle of her knife at all times. Stayed close to Daryl, mimicked his body and silent steps and breathing pattern as best she could, if not for general safety then to keep her mind distracted.

Beth couldn't tell if it were her anxiety or an actual truth, but, to her, the walkers here – the ones they'd seen since crossing over into DC – were _strange_. Behaved differently. Didn't wander aimlessly at a constant pace. They were mostly in groups of manageable sizes. And, yes, they would eventually amble toward them as they approached, but they and their behaviors didn't seem as – _urgent_ , maybe. As hungry. Didn't seem to make an immediate beeline for the living as soon as they heard or smelled or saw them. And Beth wasn't complaining about the way these walkers seemed easier to kill, slower to respond, but it was all just sort of unsettling.

She didn't voice any of her observations or concerns. She wasn't sure her brain or mouth or vocal cords or tongue had the capability of forming any sort of words at the moment. Not while they were still out in the open. She was concentrating on staying alert, all of her energy was being filtered to her other senses – the ones that could identify trouble or danger. Daryl's actions seemed to be mostly on point with her own, save for the fact that he periodically directed his attention to the areas behind them while Beth kept looking and moving forward.

It wasn't a terribly long walk to the art museum. And it was an enormous, elaborate structure. Huge pillars lined the front entrance. Faded flags on either side waved in the slight breeze and dilapidated banners hung from the ceiling, attached in between pillars. Beth couldn't make out what they'd once been.

There were no groups of walkers out here, though piles of bones and rotting corpses littered the grassy area that expanded out from the building to the street in front.

As they approached the steps leading to the doors – which could've been bolted shut for all eternity for all they knew or unlocked and open to anything, living or dead, that chose to enter them – Daryl reached his hand out for Beth's. It took her a moment to realize it, though she'd stopped advancing as soon as he had. She swallowed hard and shakily accepted his hand in her own, interlocking their fingers.

"Check your gun." He said, turning halfway to face her, still keeping one eye on all that surrounded them. "Make sure 's loaded. Make sure ya got more ammo ready an' within your reach."

Beth used her other hand to check the handgun, though she'd already been certain it was loaded and ready. She'd stuffed a fair amount of what extra ammunition she had in the most easily-accessible pocket of the pack slung over her shoulders.

He watched her actions, checking along with her.

"You got your gun ready? Knife? Bolts?" She asked, clearing her throat a bit when the words came out rough and thick.

He nodded, squeezing her hand tightly. "Let's just go up there by the door, knock a few times. See if any of 'em are near the front. 'Fore we go in."

They negotiated the stairs leading up to the four separate doors, still loosely holding hands. This part, they'd do together. They walked by each door, quietly and tested the handles, discovering that all but one couldn't be budged in the slightest (at least, not without potentially loud and risky force). The fourth one, however, creaked open slightly as Daryl, standing fully in front of Beth, pulled the handle. Completely unlocked. No signs of forced entry, though the paneling of the doors, which were probably once pristine and elegant, were covered in scratch marks. And that, too, was unsettling.

Daryl knocked on the frame of the door, leaving the door itself only slightly ajar as he did. Pulled Beth more behind him with the hand still grasping hers.

They waited several minutes, leaning their heads and ears this way and that, closing their eyes for brief moments to listen. But there was nothing. Not a sound besides the breeze causing the flags and banners to whip lightly.

Daryl, bracing himself on the outside of the door, swung his upper body around the edge of the door frame. Beth watched his head rotate for a few minutes before he turned toward her and jerked his head for her to follow him.

The inside appeared to be untouched. There were windows that were mostly covered by decorative, dusty blinds that allowed in very little light. The main hallway was a sight that some part of Beth found beautiful. Tragically so. White, modern-looking displays of art in the form of paintings and sculptures hung sturdily on the walls or sat in exhibit cases, the moments and people and colors encased in glass that'd been meant to protect them for the rest of time.

The floor was smooth golden tile that served to light up the room, if only the intricate lighting displays had still been functional. They walked down several hallways, finding several doors that were either locked or led to small closet/storage areas.

They moved to the second floor. Beth took a moment to appreciate the staircase that curled and seemed to glow despite the layers of dust that now covered the golden banisters. More of the same on the second floor. A small smear of blood on one wall was the only evidence of any life – or death – they'd discovered so far. Portraits and landscapes and canvasses that were spotted and swiped with random colors that seemed to form everything yet nothing at all lined the walls, descriptions of their meanings or how each work was inspired and those who'd created them were underlined in their frames.

Daryl let his hand slip out of Beth as he approached a particularly strange painting.

He reached into his pocket to retrieve a cigarette from his pack. Lit it up and crossed his arms over his chest while studying the odd work of art.

"'S this shit?" He asked, voice barely above a whisper though it still echoed in the hollow, empty corridor.

Beth took the moment to rest as she sat down on a oddly-shaped sofa in the middle of the corridor. She supposed, at some time, it would have been viewed as creative or innovative or something to those who'd been among the enlightened, artistic crowd. She, on the other hand, wasn't sure where her ass was supposed to go – the whole thing looked like an upside down claw-tooth bathtub that'd been covered with some white fabric.

"I mean – that. That? Art?" Daryl was still regarding the same piece, and Beth could understand his perception. Random colors, some blotted with edges fading, long swipes that formed waves, hard splotches forming dark dots – kind of made her think of someone who'd been on an acid trip and decided to try and paint a new, fucked up version of the sacks enclosing loaves of _Wonder Bread_. Though some part of her wondered what patterns and images her mind would create were she given the tools to do so.

"Could piss things more interestin' an' meaningful than that shit," Daryl huffed, exhaling smoke and bitterness.

"I'd be willin' to place a bid on one'a your works, Mr. Dixon," Beth said, feeling a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Hell, I'd o' known I could make money an' be in some big ass stupid fuckin' museum just by accidentally spillin' a can o' paint on some shit, life would'a been much different." He took another drag and kept walking down the corridor. Beth jumped up to follow him.

The entire place appeared to be deserted, forgotten. There was another floor above, but the doors to enter it had been bolted, locked. Daryl knocked and even said a few words in case there were anything living inside.

They just had the basement left to check out. And Beth felt a welcome but small bit of relief at that.

The basement door had been slightly ajar when they reached it, so after ensuring it was clear, they moved to descend the staircase. Clearly, this was an area for storage – or had become one after the turn. It was musty and didn't appear to be nearly as well-kept as the rest of the museum.

It was even darker there, as no windows lined the walls. Beth fished out the small flashlight from her pack, using it as inconspicuously as she could to briefly to illuminate the area. Or maybe _area_ wasn't an accurate description, because the basement level seemed bigger than every other fucking floor combined. But there wasn't much down there.

"Creepy," Beth murmured, as she took in the several paintings that were piled in one massive corner. Most were of women. Women's faces. Old-fashioned. Nude. Giving birth to animals of another species in graphic detail. She turned away, following Daryl toward the other side of the room.

They efficiently checked the entirety of the basement and came up with nothing except for the dust bunnies now coating their skin.

"Guess ain't nothin' here." Daryl said, hint of something – disappointment, maybe – in his voice as he sat on the bottom step of the much less impressive stairwell leading back up to the main floor of the museum.

"Kind'a suprisin'," Beth mused. "Big place. Good walls. Only one or two spots of blood in the whole damn place."

It did seem odd. A city that'd been home to so many people, with the protection and proximity of the government and law enforcement on their sides, now seemed more and more likely to truly be the wasteland that it appeared. Though there were many other buildings from which to choose, and maybe one of the others had found something.

But then – "Wait. Why's there blood spots but no bodies? No rottin' corpse, no piles of bones? 'Less there's people around." Beth thought out loud, trying to work it over in her mind, remembering the random smears of blood on the walls, which may've been accepted as another work of art were it not for the end of the world, that they'd seen earlier. Should there be bodies somewhere? Or at least the smell of death and decay? Or were there people in here, somewhere? Unless it'd happened early on and whoever'd killed the things had disposed of them. But the blood didn't appear to be that old – the turn had been well over – what? – 2 years ago?

Beth's mind was reeling with all that they'd seen, all that they hadn't, all of the things that seemed _off_ in this entire district.

"Who fuckin' knows," Daryl shrugged, sounding tired. Defeated and irritated too, maybe.

"You notice them – them walkers? Way they were actin'?" She asked.

He didn't respond, barely looked at her. Seemed to be overcome with several different layers of exhaustion.

"Outside. I mean, in – in the streets. They were - I'unno - Daryl, they were _weird_." Beth continued, clicking on the flashlight in her hand and shining the beam that shone out from it in his direction.

"Oh yeah? _Weird_ , huh?" Daryl sounded more irritated and he lowered his head down between his knees briefly before lifting it again and addressing her. "Since when you seen a walker that ain't fuckin' _weird_ , Beth?"

She shook her head, shrugging a shoulder. He didn't get it. "They were all just – just _standin' there_. Even when they caught sight of us, it – it was like they were all so slow. To react. And they just stayed in them little groups, and—"

"A'right, stop. A walker's a walker's a fuckin' walker. Seen ones that barely move at all, ones just made up of a torso an' a head, or a head an' a shoulder." Daryl sighed. "C'mon. Let's take a quick look 'round outside. See if anythin' else looks worth goin' in. If there ain't anythin', we'll head on back to the meet up. No point in hangin' 'round here."

Beth nodded, dismissing her thoughts for the moment. But she couldn't shake the persistent feeling that something was just _off_.

Xxx

No other appealing buildings in the immediate area, Daryl and Beth headed back to the west, toward the white house.

When they reached it about a half an hour later, they saw Michonne and Rick walking around the side of the massive building, each wearing a solemn expression.

"Nothin'?" Rick asked, regarding Beth and Daryl with a slight nod.

Daryl shrugged. "Some poor excuses for art. Nothin' else. And ya'll?"

Michonne laughed. "You wouldn't know art if it hit ya in the head, Dixon. S'pose we oughtta—"

The sudden firing of gunshots cut off Michonne's words and pierced the relative calm that'd seeped into Beth's bones upon what she thought would be a quickly-approaching departure from the city.

The shots didn't last long. Maybe 2 or 3 rounds fired total. Off in the distance. South.

"C'mon," Rick said, jogging toward the direction of the noises.

They ran then, for several minutes. Beth felt her chest and lungs tighten with the exertion as well as the panic rapidly creeping up and coating the insides of her.

Continuing in the direction from which the shots had come, they soon approached the history museum, another building that astonished Beth by its size alone. And, there, off in the distance and standing outside, they saw _people_. Living, breathing, non-dead ( _non-undead_ ) humans.

Xxx

Chris was standing among the 30-or-so others – men, women, a few teenagers – on a grassy patch just outside the entrance of the museum. His hands were up in surrender. Spots and streaks of red appeared to stain his light blonde hair and beard.

"Fuck," Daryl breathed, picking up his pace as soon as he took in the sight several hundred yards ahead.

"Beth, stay by me," Michonne said quickly after Beth had started to increase her own pace.

"No, Michonne, I wanna-" she started, breathless but trying (unsuccessfully) to rip her arm away from Michonne's tight grasp on her wrist.

"I know what you _wanna_. But you ain't _gonna_. Seen what crowds an' confrontations can do to ya. Safer for them _and_ us if ya stay back."

Beth swallowed the lump in her throat, bit back the burning behind her eyes and the words that threatened to erupt from her mouth at the older woman, who raised a good point.

They were at least close enough to hear the conversation between their family and the strangers. To watch and make sure they were safe.

"Stop right there." A man's voice. A man with a gun, the aim of which had quickly been turned away from Chris and was now pointing toward Rick and Daryl as they approached the group of other people.

They stopped, lifting their arms to match Chris's. Rick spoke, nodding his head toward Chris. "He's with us. So's the other one."

"Ah, you mean _that one_?" The man asked, gesturing at the ground with his gun.

Oh no. Oh _shit_. Beth began to feel the tingles in her toes and fingertips, breaths coming fast and hard. She tried to regulate it all – her breathing, her blinking, her heartbeat. She couldn't. This was bad. Was Thomas dead?

Rick turned to Chris. "What'd he do? Thomas?"

Chris, expression grave and fearful, turned to Rick and shook his head. "He didn't do nothin', Rick. We knocked, these folk –"

"How 'bout we let _these folk_ tell the story?" The man snapped, eyes cutting to Chris while keeping his gun poised and aimed at Rick and Daryl.

Rick nodded, seemed calm and compliant. "Yes, please, go on. I'm Rick, 's here's Daryl," he gestured to Chris, "you've already met Chris, I assume." Rick turned around then, keeping his hands in the air, waved a hand toward where Beth and Michonne stood before continuing: "That's Beth, there, an' Michonne. We all came here. Together."

"That's a real nice story. This is a federally-protected area – _Ron_ , was it? Your friends here just decided they could invite themselves right on inside. Could'a _contaminated_ it. Ruined everything. Best if ya'll get the fuck outta here. See any others, even if they don't belong with ya, let 'em know Washington isn't a free-for-all. We're doin' stuff here - _things_. Sorry 'bout your friend. But it's for the greater good. We gotta protect what we're doin' here." The man, though his voice was harsh, seemed somehow genuine to Beth. But she wondered then, if –

Before Michonne could react, Beth jogged away, slowing her pace to a quick walk as she came upon the group, not flinching as she became the man's latest target, as he whipped the gun's barrel away from Rick and Daryl.

She lifted her hands up in mock surrender, as Daryl and Rick had, keeping her eyes on the man who'd spoken, the one who'd killed Thomas, who she now could see lying face up on the grass, motionless, with a bullet hole and pool of blood leaking from his upper chest.

"Um – sorry – I couldn't help but overhear ya'll," Beth said, trying to make her voice sound light and non-threatening and unafraid. She noticed the man's eyes trailing downward from her scarred face to her body. And, whatever. Probably was the same way before the turn - assertive, slick, fast talker, fast looker.

"I just noticed that the – um – the _sick folks_ 'round here. They act weird." Though she'd chosen words that were entirely inaccurate and she (and if she had to bet, this man, too) knew it, he was listening, or at least allowing her to talk. Ask questions. Didn't seem surprised by her assessment.

"They're slower. Or sluggish, or somethin'." The man narrowed his eyes but a small smirk formed across his face.

"They don't run at'cha the way most the others do. An' they stay in those small groups 'stead of makin' into one big group." She was describing her observations as best she could, making sure to keep her voice devoid of any hints of accusation or suspicion. She was curious, and this could be important information, if he were willing to talk. And she was diverting his attention from Daryl, Rick, and Chris for the moment.

"They seem, I'unno. Just. _Different_."

The man stepped closer to Beth, lowering his gun just slightly. He was middle-aged, dark brown hair peppered with gray. Not bad-looking. Seemed like he'd seen a lot, heard a lot, probably done a lot. Maybe not all good. But maybe not all bad, either. He put a fingertip under Beth's chin, holding her face in place while he studied it, eyes lingering over the scars and the indentation left by the bullet that would never fully fill in with healed flesh.

"Got a smart one," he said, still holding Beth's face while turning his eyes towards Rick and Daryl. She noticed then that the others - the large group of people behind this man - were just _standing_ there too, like the strange walkers, regarding her and them and this without any obvious emotion. Like a cult or something, and this guy was their leader.

She could hear Daryl's heavy breathing beside her, could almost _feel_ the rigidity of his stance radiating toward her. And she wished that they had their own silent language right now.

"You're right – Beth, was it? We are all former members of the central intelligence agency, federal bureau of investigation, federal forensic scientists, pharmaceutical engineers, chemists, army. Oh, and a few of our children are here, or bright young people who we're training to carry on with our endeavors. This isn't the whole lot of us. More are inside." His eyes didn't move away from hers as he spoke, and she wondered why he felt compelled to give her any insight or information, let alone all of this – _this_ , whatever it was. Were they simply a team of superhero smart people? What were they? Was the president here, somewhere, giving them orders? And if so, why weren't they trying to reach out to the rest of the nation?

"I can see your wheels are turning," he interrupted her thoughts. "We're in the process of conducting hundreds of studies - _experiments_ , if you will. We are trying to figure out how to eradicate the virus - or what seems to share some properties with a virus. And until then, we are working toward ways of controlling _them_."

"Seems to be working," her voice had softened to a near-whisper, and she could feel herself shaking even when he released her, letting his hand drop away from her chin. Controlling them. The walkers. How? Making them slower, less likely to kill...

"Well, like all studies, my dear – we have to endure failures before we can find successes." He smiled. Wasn't genuine, but not quite malicious either.

"So, you guys stay in there," she said, nodding toward the museum. "Got electricity and water and all? For your experiments?" She decided to push just a little further, or see if she could.

"Got generators. Massive ones, meant for times of national disaster. One perk of living in the nation's capital, working for the government," he winked at her. "But when they malfunction, we have the best scientists in the world. All here."

"An' you don't take in anyone else I s'pose? There's a whole lot more survivors out there. Might not be for long, though. It's - it's bad out there. Gettin' worse all the time." She figured she should probably stop. While she still could. While the man was still regarding her with some faint amusement, curiosity maybe. But the impulse to keep talking, to try to keep him talking was stronger than her self-control.

"We do take people in, actually, but only if they're agreeable to sign up as _research participants_." Beth's lips quivered just a little at the implications of that. Of being a research participant. And then she felt a little rage, a little disappointment, bubble up inside of her. Why were all of the _people_ left, apart from her family, so fucking _cruel_? Just _using people_ \- taking lives as they pleased - and who knows how many were left now? The human race could be quickly on its way to extinction - and these fucks were using the dwindling population as research subjects and other groups used women just to get their rocks off or -

"Otherwise, we find ways of _obtaining_ participants. Your friend here will shortly be contributing to the most current medical research study." The man continued, gesturing to Thomas, smug smirk now widening across his face.

Beth nodded. This was fucked up. And there was nothing here. No hope. No regard for all the others out there, struggling to survive. She smiled. "We don't want any part of it, sir."

"I'd maybe make an exception for you, Beth. You're the only person in ages to notice the fruits of our labors without any prompting."

Beth's heart thudded hard, so hard, against her rib cage. Maybe this fucking creep would get himself a new research participant if she suffered a damn heart attack or followed her instinct to unsheath her knife and rip into his jugular.

"I – I, uh – thank you. For the offer. But I have a family. An' we – we all appreciate it. What ya'll are doin'. Greater good and all. And wish you luck with the – studies." Beth tried but failed miserably to mask the rising panic from her voice. She tried for a sweet smile and turned to jerk her head toward the north, away from this desolate place and these diabolical humans, first to Chris and then to Rick and Daryl.

"Change your mind, beautiful Beth, you're welcome back any time." The man said, voice fading as the five of them walked away.

When the museum was nearly out of view, Beth turned her head and swore she saw a reanimated version of Thomas, red hair and bright green shirt difficult to miss, stumbling clumsily across the grass.

Xxx

They walked until long past the night had set in. Not speaking. Just breathing heavily, oxygenating their blood to deliver fuel and energy and the force of life to their muscles and brains and bones.

"We gotta stop, Rick. This ain't safe. We gotta stop 'til mornin'," Michonne, who appeared to be doubled over and resting her hands on her knees, said as she inhaled deep breaths between each word that she spoke.

"Yeah." Rick said, just as breathless. "Yeah, a'right."

Beth wasn't particularly concerned that the group from DC was following them. They could have killed them all right then and there had they wanted to. But she did feel some need to find somewhere – _safer_.

But they were all exhausted and running on fumes and fumes alone and this is what they had to do to survive.

"Me an' Beth got watch," Daryl said after they'd sat around in silence for a while, processing all that they'd experienced, or trying to. Or maybe trying not to.

Though she wasn't entirely sure what any of her family members had been hoping to find in Washington - a cure, a giant safe house, maybe - she knew that it all boiled down to just that: _hope_. They'd been looking for hope. Somewhere to rest. Somewhere safe. And, yeah, maybe nowhere would ever _really_ be safe again. But there had to be something out there for them to just - stop. To just stop and think and maybe come up with some plans of their own to regain some semblance of control over their own lives. Somewhere where, maybe, the undead were their only enemies, the only threats to their safety, where people weren't cruel and barbaric and so very far from human.

Beth had mixed feelings about what they'd learned was being done in DC. In some form, it was basic scientific and medical research. Which was how what'd previously been known and available as modern medicine had been discovered. It'd saved lives, before. But the fact that they were possibly – no, _definitely_ – not just using walkers who were already dead – already walkers – and, therefore suitable subjects for such experimentation, left Beth with an unnerving feeling. Same one she'd felt the entire time they'd been in DC.

As she sat there, lost in her thoughts, she suddenly felt Daryl grab her by the arm, yanking her up to her feet wordlessly. She stumbled for a few steps, muttering "all ya had to do was _ask_ ," before she finally got her footing and followed him more easily into the darkness of the forest.

They'd gone a pretty far distance before she spoke up. "Um, Daryl. I think we're too far away to really be able to keep watch very – "

He whipped her around to the front of him, cutting off her words, backing her into what she guessed was a tree – not roughly, but not gingerly by any means. She _oofed_ as her back came into contact with the trunk of the tree, knocking some of the breath out of her lungs. She could see somewhat by the light of the moon – well enough to see that his eyes were narrowed and his jaw and mouth were set in a hard line.

He pressed his body in closer to hers, each of their chests brushing against the other's as they both heaved in deep breaths.

"Daryl – " Beth started, feeling confused and slightly irritated by his actions.

"Don't know what the fuck you think you were doin', back there," he was right in her face, voice low and rough and angry.

"What? What do you mean – "

" _You know_. Walkin' up there, sayin' shit. No idea how they could'a reacted, Beth. Could'a shot ya, right there in front of us, made ya into one'a their – _subjects_ , or somethin'. The hell were you thinkin'?" His eyes were locked on hers and this time he wasn't shying away. She knew this side of him, the side that got _angry_ when he was actually just _afraid_.

"Yeah? And they could'a shot all three of your asses, just 'cause ya came up lookin' to find Thomas." She hissed.

"Don't matter. If that'd happened, wouldn'a been 'cause we ran our mouths, tryin' to make friends with fuckin' psychos."

"Sometimes _pretendin'_ to make friends with psychos can get your ass outta trouble. Got yours and Rick's and Chris's outta there, didn't I?" She tilted her chin up, still breathing as hard as he was.

"And sometimes just _talkin'_ to psychos can get you an' everyone you know killed. Was _stupid_."

"Nah. I don't think it was. Think it might'a been _smart_ , really."

Daryl scoffed, backing away briefly to run a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. And she couldn't help but notice - god, they were so blue, his eyes. Ice blue with hints of expanding black radiating from their centers, almost glowing by the light of the moon.

"Think 'bout it. Man like that's got an ego big as Washington. He _liked_ that I noticed it – his work. Can tell an arrogant asshole from a mile away," Beth continued. Though, in all honesty, she hadn't been entirely sure at the time if he'd take any sort of bait or give in to any sort of distraction she could cause. All she could think about was doing something, anything, to keep the rest of them safe. And get the fuck away from that place, from that city that she'd known somewhere, somehow, deep inside would be bad. Because maybe it wasn't a fallacy, the aversion she had toward cities. And maybe it wasn't just cities. Maybe it was people. Maybe it's because she'd seen the evidence of it and despite not willingly acknowledging the memories of all the bad shit she'd seen and what'd been done to her, they still guided her – shaped her – thoughts and behaviors and feelings.

"Next time I ain't gonna let you come with us nowhere," Daryl said. "Can't keep your damn mouth shut. Can't stop yourself from runnin' straight into anythin' an' everythin' dangerous."

"You ain't gonna stop me. I can take care o' myself. And you know it." Fuck him. Fuck his double standards. Fine for them to volunteer to be in front of every line of fire, but she can't have the same right, the same choice. This is what she'd come back to do. And wasn't he the one who'd said he wouldn't let it be all for nothing? He'd told Rick that she was strong and brave and could handle herself in a situation as dangerous as this one had been. And now he was scolding her like a child. After all she'd done was step in to the situation earlier, actually gaining some intel on the state of the nation.

He didn't reply, just stared at her, same glare in his eyes – wild and angry and stupidly protective – an almost-snarl forming at his lips even as he remained silent. And she wanted to slap him. Wanted to take off into the woods just to track her way back to _prove_ to him that she could do it, even though she was certain he already knew that.

"Goddamn it, Beth. You drive me _fucking_ crazy," he breathed, and suddenly he pressed himself closer, covering her mouth with his, thrusting his tongue roughly inside her mouth before she'd even gathered what the _fuck_ was going on.

But then her anger and her frustration and her irritation changed. Changed and evolved and molded so rapidly to _need_ and a violent energy that hummed inside of her.

She shoved her tongue right back into his mouth with as much force as she could gather – a battle for dominance – love and lust and anger all combined to form this. _This_.

He pushed her harder into the tree, wedging a leg in between hers and bending himself down slightly so that it was pressed right up against her center. He grabbed her by the hips then, pulling her forward and downward onto his leg and the feeling there caused a gush of heat to spread and settle in between her thighs so fast and hard that – though she couldn't feel physical pain – she felt a need so strong it made her _ache_ , somewhere so deep inside of her that she couldn't even begin to localize it.

"Ugh, _fuck_ ," he groaned through gritted teeth, right in her ear, as she took it upon herself to start grinding against him.

She was making quiet, desperate little noises as she braced herself on his shoulders for leverage and continued to feel him, to let him feel her. She tipped her head back, leaning it against the tree as she trailed one hand from his shoulder, up the side of his neck, along his jaw and to his mouth. His hot mouth that opened and closed and groaned and said the sweetest and most obnoxious and _dickish_ and sexiest things. His mouth that pissed her off and made her feel _so_ good that she couldn't really begin to understand its inner workings, except that it was him. She stuck a finger there, in his mouth, then, experimenting a little, somehow even in her state of near-oblivion, and she felt his warm tongue wrap around it, wet and hot, followed by the pressure of his teeth as he bit down. And she almost hoped he'd draw blood so that he could lick it and taste it and _have_ it, the very thing that pumped through her blood vessels, the very thing that meant she was _alive_. Maybe then he'd realize or admit how strong she was.

He moved his leg away from her then, standing up and stepping closer to her. She could feel him, so hard against her belly, as his arms came behind her and rubbed the marred skin of her back, starting low and inching higher until he brought them around to her front and palmed her breasts. His eyes caught hers, and he was silently asking for some sort of permission, which may've been amusing to Beth (since she'd just been grinding herself against his leg) if she weren't so overwhelmed.

She nodded and he began kneading, cupping, squeezing gently. Kept moving. Rubbing his hands down further onto her stomach and back up again. And then around to her back, under the waistband of her jeans to her ass, groaning again and gently - almost involuntarily - thrusting his hips forward against her.

"Daryl –" Beth barely recognized her own voice. Deep with want yet high with raw desperation and pleading. She brought her hands forward, somewhat clumsily, and finally felt the length of him through his jeans, felt him tremble and spasm and the jerk of his muscles in response.

She almost wanted to cry, she wanted him so badly. In any and every way he was willing to give himself to her.

He leaned forward then, resting the side of his face against one side of hers.

"I can't wait, Beth. 'Til we find some place. Some place we can stay for a while. Some place we can be alone, maybe." His voice was trembling, soft yet rough, as he whispered into her ear the things she didn't think he'd be able to say out loud if it were light outside. This was their own special thing, their own special place and time and voices and thoughts and actions.

"We don't have to wait," Beth whispered back, biting at his neck as she moved her hands to her belt.

Without moving his head away from hers, he grabbed her wrists, stopping her movements.

"Ain't doin' this here. Up against some fuckin' tree."

"It doesn't matter," she pleaded. "I just – I just want you. _This_. This way you make me feel. 'S better than anything else. Just - just _bein'_ with you, even when you're a jackass. I feel safe. And then there's _this part_ , an' I want it, too. I don't know how or why or even what to do."

He lifted his eyes to hers, and the anger was mostly gone. Replaced by some sort of softness that made her blood sing inside of her veins.

"It does matter, Beth. To me, it does. All of it." He pressed his lips to hers again, urgency replaced by passion.

And she didn't let her mind wander to and deliberate over his words for long, didn't let them explore the depth and potential meanings underlying them. But she wanted to make him feel good. Wanted to make him feel even half of what he made her feel.

She dropped her eyes and went to work at undoing his belt. He tried grabbing her wrists to halt her, but she swatted them away and rubbed him again through the fabric, licked up the column of his neck and into his mouth. And then he stopped resisting, just turned them around so that his back was against the tree, facing the direction from which they'd come – and there was something protective and gentle in that action - and it made Beth feel even more desperate. She quickly undid the zipper and slid his jeans and boxers down to mid-thigh.

She didn't feel shy or afraid. Didn't try to hide her gaze from him. And she didn't even know what to do. Had never gotten anywhere _near_ this far with him – with anyone. But she knew the basics. Couldn't be that difficult. But she wanted to do well, wanted to make him feel something good.

She wrapped her hand around him and he jumped at that sensation alone, sucking in a sharp breath and leaning his head backward into the tree, almost pushing his upper body away from her, from the feeling she _knew_ was pleasure, and into its rough bark. So she yanked him forward. Because he could have this. She wanted him to.

She kept her grip firm as she slid her hand along his length a few times, experimentally. And she could feel his muscles contracting and saw the small muscles twitching and flexing in his pelvis as he matched her slow rhythm. He licked his lips then and, as she watched, it was almost as if she could feel his tongue, his mouth, his teeth on _her_ , like they'd been the other night.

She dropped to her knees, just following her impulses, hot and wired and everywhere all at once, at this point. He mumbled some sort of protest or question but then she opened her mouth and took him inside, as far as she could go, keeping her teeth out of the way as best she could. And it was so beautifully strange, the way his skin felt. Hard and smooth at the same time. Steel wrapped in satin - similar to him, and if she thought about it, similar to her too.

She must've paused because Daryl let a hand drift down to her face to rub along her scarred cheek. And she looked up at him and he just stared, caressing her face. His mouth was half-open and his face was the picture of desire but he shook his head a little. Giving her an out, she guessed. But she pressed forward, taking him in again.

" _Fuck_ ," he whined, and she could tell he was trying _so_ hard to keep his hips stationary, to avoid moving or thrusting so he wouldn't gag her by going any deeper. So she clamped her teeth down lightly and his hips bucked forward on their own and he moaned, so deep and low that it reverberated through him and somehow into her, spurring her on.

She increased her pace, pumping her mouth along the length of him, head to base, and, at some point, his hand had tangled in her hair and he was using it to shove and pull her head increasingly harder and faster, and the throbbing between her own legs was so strong that she felt like she was going to come just from listening and tasting and hearing him.

"Goddamnit, you're so - feels so good - I fucking _love it_ \- you, _god_ ," his words were breathless jumbles as he continued thrusting, still guiding her head by the strong grip in her hair. And she just couldn't _take_ the sounds he was making. Tears were welling up in her eyes and she could feel a throbbing deep inside her and, without really realizing it, she shoved a hand into her own pants, rubbing herself right where she was aching for him. She felt so hot, just from this, and she lifted her head up to tell him so and his eyes widened as he took in what she was doing, and he gripped her hair so hard she was sure she heard the ripping of strands from her scalp but she didn't care.

"Ah, _god_ , I'm gonna come, Beth, _fuck_ -" he said, voice thick and urgent and desperate and fearful. And at his words she felt herself start to flutter around her own fingers, liquid heat releasing from inside of her just as she felt him pulsing in her mouth, his own release spurting down her throat, which she swallowed as it came, though it was difficult as she was still whimpering, calming down from her own orgasm.

Daryl, still breathing heavily, let his head lull back against the tree, loosening his grip on Beth's hair. He breathed there for a few moments, rubbing his hand softly and slowly along her scalp and she side of her face as she remained on her knees, trying to catch her own breath as her head rested against one of his thighs.

Daryl wiped himself a bit with his boxers, pulling them and his jeans up as he slid down the tree, landing on his ass at the bottom, still heaving in deep breaths. He pulled Beth, who felt nothing but peace and weightlessness and the slight, pleasant tremors of the aftershocks, into his lap, where she curled up like a content housecat. He let out a trembling sigh and kissed her forehead as she let her eyes drift shut.

And just before she felt sleep tugging at her, he tipped her head up to his and whispered: "I'm still mad at you."

She felt a prickle of irritation. "So be mad." She moved to return her head to his chest, but he again reached down, lifting it up toward his.

"Ya know why 'm mad, though."

She sighed in feigned frustration. "Not really. 'Cause you're moody? An' sometimes a real jackass?"

He smirked a little, shaking his head. Pushed her head back onto his chest, kissed her on the top of the head.

And she wasn't sure if she'd fallen asleep and just imagined it, but she thought she heard him whisper: "I'm mad at you 'cause I love you."


	15. so now i'll hand the fuse to you

_**A/N: Hello! I hope there are a few people out there still reading this. Apologies for the delay in getting this chapter out. I've been trying to exercise patience with myself - I, like Beth, am a teensy bit on the impulsive side and, traditionally, the very second I get a chapter finished, I click the submit button. And then I go back and re-read and facepalm repeatedly for silly grammatical or spelling mistakes or scenes that I felt were missing something. SO, as I've said, I'm using this as a learning experience (as well as my own form of therapy) and trying like hell to make sure you guys are getting my best work.**_

 _ **Enough talk. Here's chapter 15. Summary: Beth, Daryl & the DC group meet back up with their family. There are some decisions to be made, and someone (who we may have forgotten about with all that's happened in the last several chapters) may have a proposition. And that person's proposition won't be the only one we see. Maggie and Beth see each other again, and they have a lot to work through. It's not all going to be solved, but I hope you're all satisfied with the direction of their relationship. Beth struggles with the group's decision and the recognition and acknowledgement of all her feelings. **_

_**Let me know what you think if anyone's still out there. I am 100% certain (finally! I'm also very indecisive) of the direction in which I want this story to go from here on out and, ultimately, how it will end. Once I get an outline typed up (so I claim), I'll be able to predict roughly how many more chapters we have to go. But I think it's a few more than I originally anticipated - hopefully that doesn't ruin anyone's day.**_

 _ **Reviews are love.**_

 _ **xx**_

 **chapter 15: so now i'll hand the fuse to you  
**

It'd been almost two days since they'd left Washington.

The journey hadn't been without its exciting times, but they hadn't run into anything overly unusual. Walkers. Some potential tracks that they hadn't had the time nor the desire to follow. More woods. More of the same. No one said much, and when they did, they spoke quietly. They walked quietly. As if the people from Washington could've been following them - which, yes, that was certainly possible and would most definitely _not_ have been the strangest thing that could happen.

But then there was Rick, who'd been trying to crack Beth and the armor that shielded her heart and her mind by dropping little conversational pieces here and there about Judith – how she'd started crawling and trying to pull herself up into standing and was even saying a few words. Beth listened to Rick proudly talk about his daughter, mostly out of respect, but she couldn't make herself respond outside of the occasional nod, or "wow, that's great, Rick." She kept her eyes on the ground, concentrating hard on her steps and trying with all of her effort to make them even quieter - maybe to the point that she'd just vanish, become invisible or something.

It's not that she didn't feel anything towards Judith. She couldn't say that. It's not that she wasn't elated – if she had the ability to feel that extreme an emotion, in some way or another – to discover that the baby, who'd, once upon a time, _maybe_ restored a bit of Beth's hope to one day become a mother - as incredibly stupid as that seemed to her now - or at least be as motherly a figure to _her_ as possible, had survived the downfall of the prison.

It was just that, if she allowed herself to think about Judith - to let those memories in and try to embrace them or even just _acknowledge_ them, despite the pain that they would inevitably cause her - then it would just be the start of a very slippery slope. One that Beth wasn't willing to let herself slide down just yet. Maybe not ever.

Then there was the progression of Beth and Daryl's relationship – or whatever the hell it was. Beth still couldn't define it or label it in her own mind. The things they'd done, physically, hadn't been planned by any means. They'd been behaving riskily, those nights when they'd been overcome by the tidal waves of emotion and desire. How and more specifically _when_ and _where_ they'd been acting upon those feelings hadn't been the safest thing, for them or for their family, and they'd both seemed to come to that realization independently. And it wasn't that they'd intentionally been placing themselves or their family members at risk. It was a magnetic force, a pull, a gravitation - something that neither of them, as strong as she knew they both were, could resist or deny. So, there hadn't been any more of _that_ since the night when Beth had done things to Daryl with her hands and her mouth - things she'd never imagined she'd be able to do to anyone - and that didn't mean that she hadn't let the memory replay itself inside her mind a few times. Without actually speaking about it or consciously deciding to (at least on Beth's part), they'd both been actively keeping a bit of distance between them. Sure, there'd been shared looks. Sometimes they were lingering and a little longing, sometimes they weren't. There'd been a brushing of hands here and there, Daryl's warm breath in Beth's ear when they'd found time to hunt. There'd been moments when they'd been alone, or nearly alone, and the urge to throw herself at him and hear those sounds that he'd made the other night had been ripping away, tearing at her, from the inside out. But she'd breathe through it - and, sometimes, she'd sworn she'd caught him doing the same - and tell herself _soon - survive first, get from point A to point B and, knowing her family, to point C and D and E, and then you can have it - whatever it is._ And her breath would falter for a few moments as she regulated her breathing, but the cravings and impulses would pass. And she could replay the images and memories in her mind at night, as she was trying to sleep. But nothing more. And that was okay. It didn't change the way she knew she felt or the connection between them that she knew they both felt.

Beth had spent some time talking with Chris, who'd been all about the repetitive and unnecessary apologies. To her, to Rick and Michonne, to Daryl. And Beth couldn't make herself understand or sympathize because, obviously, it wasn't his fault. Weren't as if he'd known or _could've_ known that the history museum was now the hub of this world's version of some national research facility headed by some legitimately _mad_ scientists. Wasn't his fault that the first reaction of the man – the one who'd apparently been running the show – was going to be to kill Thomas, who Beth learned Chris had known his entire life.

"I just wish I could go back," he'd said. "Openin' that door was the stupidest mistake I ever made." Chris became a little emotional then, as he continued talking to Beth. And she wondered when she'd suddenly begun to appear to be someone to whom people could open up, like this. Yeah, she'd spoken with him, responded briefly as he'd talked to her about Thomas and their relationship and his family. But it was more out of boredom for Beth, or wanting to talk so that her mind wouldn't wander to places it wasn't supposed to. And this sort of talk was doing exactly _not_ that.

"Could'a gotten all of ya killed," he whispered. Beth stiffened, suddenly wishing she were more like Daryl. Didn't often see near-strangers spilling out their hearts to him, though she wasn't sure why not - he was the best at listening. She thought about how she could make herself look less approachable. Maybe she needed a leather jacket. Apparently the scars weren't doing the trick.

Chris continued, interrupting Beth's thoughts: "Just that one stupid, _stupid_ choice, an' I could'a gotten ya _all_ shot."

She shrugged, forcing back the surge of memories filled with similar thoughts she'd had about herself and her own past mistakes. Because that wouldn't get her - or them - anywhere.

"Ya just gotta move on," she said flatly. "Thinkin' about it won't change anythin'. Learn from it if ya can. But don't keep on thinkin' about it, over an' over. Don't talk 'bout it. Not to yourself or anyone else, and just move past it. Otherwise you won't survive."

xxx

They'd been on the final leg of their journey for a few hours when Michonne had pointed out the thin haze of smoke amongst the trees signaling the _meet up spot_ , version 3.0. And if their _next_ plan was going to involve splitting up and picking yet _another_ meet up spot, Beth might actually scream.

The five of them picked up their pace as they approached their family. Rick whistled and the sound of the returning call carried through the woods to their ears.

It was dark out, and a figure was approaching the five of them. Though he (or she) was coming from the area in which the rest of their family was gathered, Beth's hand still went for her knife. Instinct or habit, she'd guessed. And not necessarily a bad thing.

"Oh my god! You guys made it!" _Was that_ –

"Aaron? Where the hell were ya? Where've you been? Never showed at the last spot – we had no idea what'd happened to ya." Rick embraced him. And it was strange, in some ways, to her. He wasn't family by default, hadn't known him all that long, though Beth had learned early on that the man was respected and well-liked among her family members. She liked him too. He hadn't asked many questions when she'd returned. When she'd arrived, back at the safe zone. He'd allowed her to join the recruiting team on their final mission before the fall of the community.

Aaron's hugs were given out to each of the five group members, including Daryl, who'd teased him when he approached – _"don't try an' cop a feel again, you pansy._ " – before wrapping his arms around the man.

"Took a more scenic route. Longer than expected. But luckily, at least _one_ of us is able to track," Aaron explained, rolling his eyes.

They joined the others then around the fire. Beth felt a vague sense of relief that everyone had arrived unscathed. Well, that wasn't true. They'd lost quite a few people really – Sasha, Ben's mother and sister, Laurel, Thomas, and several other Alexandrians who'd been with them at the start of their journey. But Beth was relieved for the ones who _had_ survived.

Maggie approached Beth instantly as they reached the camp, wrapping her arms tightly around her. Beth tentatively reached her own around her older sister, giving her a slight squeeze. And it didn't feel bad. Beth didn't harbor any ill feelings toward her sister. And she was glad that her actions towards Maggie hadn't seemed to abate her feelings or scare her away.

Maggie pulled back, running her hands up to Beth's shoulders as she smiled. A real smile. One Beth hadn't seen in a while. And it was strange, but Beth _almost_ felt a small one forming on her own face in return.

xxx

They had _a lot_ to catch up on – all of them. But it was late. Beth and the others from the DC group were initially going to wait until the following morning to complete their journey to the meet up, but none of them had been all too eager to wait any longer. So they'd trekked on, moving forward well into the night.

Beth was more exhausted than she'd realized. She settled down around the fire with her blanket even as a few of the others continued their quiet, excited conversations. She peeked over at Daryl, who was holding Judith and talking to Carl and Carol, and she felt a sharp pinching sensation deep inside her chest. She sighed and flopped over onto her other side.

She'd just closed her eyes when she felt the weight of another person behind her. She popped open an eye, half-rolled onto her back to peer over her shoulder, and was greeted by Ben's bright eyes. He smiled at her.

"Know you're tired. Just wanted to say I'm glad you an' Daryl made it back," he said, pressing forward to place a quick peck onto her cheek.

Beth's eyes widened momentarily and her mouth hung open in surprise – but she wasn't sure why. Ben was an expressive guy. And it wasn't totally strange to imagine that he'd been missing them or hoping that they'd return safely. And she knew she liked Ben too. It was just another new thing. He'd annoyed her, at times, during their journey in the woods with Daryl and Laurel, but he was genuine and willing to change and adapt and accept all of what this world was now – good, bad, and ugly, despite the tragic loss of his only family members and his close friend.

She smiled a little at the man. "Glad we did too, Ben. Better go on and find Daryl, tell him the same. But kiss him on the lips – think he likes it better."

Ben punched her softly in the shoulder before jumping up and disappearing somewhere in the crowd of people. Some of them were sitting, some standing, others laying down like Beth.

She still felt an undercurrent of unease – and she figured it was probably simply because of the _amount_ of people who were around. The relatively small, but still existent, number of those whom she didn't really know and didn't really plan on knowing. But it wasn't as uncomfortable as it had been, back when she'd first arrived at Alexandria. Or even weeks later, when the discomfort had persisted and maybe even spiked in its intensity. And she couldn't figure out the difference. Was it as simple as the fact that, obviously, the group here wasn't as large as it had been back at Alexandria? She didn't think that was entirely accurate or relevant, as she remembered the state of panic in which she'd been when all of the voices - which had come from most of the people still surrounding her - had encroached upon her brain through the overstimulated nerve endings inside of her ears and senses after the fall of the safe zone, thereby causing her to explode in outburst or run away and hide and further separate herself from these people and their crowded circles. What, then? Was she changing or actually getting used to things - the sounds, the faces, the interactions - even disengaged from it all as she was? Was it the environment?

The questions and thoughts continued rolling through her mind - reminded her vaguely of those scrawled messages or banners that used to trail behind blimps in the sky. She wouldn't figure it all out tonight. But she'd get some sleep.

xxx

Beth woke up before the sun. Felt warmth under and over and across her body. And she kept her self still for a moment, enjoying the feeling of the warmth of another person beside her. But it wasn't Daryl. She knew that instantly.

She opened her eyes and they were met by the big, beautiful green ones – ones that she'd always envied – that belonged to her sister.

"Hey, Beth," Maggie whispered. She lifted her arm off of Beth's chest and slowly, lightly rubbed a hand down the side of her face, green eyes following the path created by her hand.

Beth swallowed. She hadn't had any interaction like this with Maggie in a very long time, not since before. Not even in Alexandria. Hadn't wanted to. Wasn't sure that she did now, either.

But she couldn't shut her out forever. She knew that. And, strange as it was, she had a few things she wanted to say to her sister.

"Hi," Beth whispered back, forcing her expression to remain neutral. "Where's Glenn?"

Maggie rolled her eyes and lifted her hand to point to a spot somewhere beyond the tops of their heads. "He's close. Just in case he has to break up another _Greene sister Royal Rumble_." She smiled as she lowered her voice to imitate her husband and his apparent choice of words to describe the _incident_.

"I'm sorry. 'Bout – 'bout slapping you like that." Beth had known long ago that she wanted and _needed_ to apologize. She wouldn't apologize for the _reasoning_ behind the sudden physical attack she'd sprung on her sister. But for the attack itself – yeah, she'd apologize. Because she wasn't violent. Not towards people who she knew had good intentions, despite their execution of them.

Maggie nodded, still smiling. "It was a pretty good one, gotta say. But I deserved it. Had no right sayin' what I said. And I'm sorry for constantly – I'unno – bothering ya, and stuff. With the questions. With tryin' to protect ya. I know you can do that yourself. Otherwise, how would ya be here with me right now?"

Beth sucked in a breath. Maybe she hadn't been ready for this conversation yet. She appreciated the apology, really, and she was glad that she'd had the opportunity to apologize, but –

"I get it, Maggie," she said, exhaling the words. And she was being honest. She _did_ understand it. She'd thought on it, long and hard. At night when she'd tried to sleep, when they were hiking and no one'd been in the mood for talking or hunting or anything else. And no, Beth still didn't think she'd be as pushy as her older sister had been if the sisters' roles were reversed. No, she still didn't quite understand Maggie's _need_ to know every detail about Beth's past. Or her present. But she understood this: Maggie was just afraid. Afraid of losing her. Afraid of losing _them_. She'd already done it once, been through the motions and maybe the grieving and the mourning. And to have Beth return after experiencing all of those emotions - Beth could understand her sister a little better.

"Ya do?" Maggie's eyes filled with tears.

Beth nodded. "But that doesn't mean that I'm all of a sudden gonna wanna tell you. About - anythin'. Doesn't mean I'm ever _gonna_ tell ya. Or that I ain't gonna get annoyed at ya askin' me questions that you _know_ I don't wanna answer. Or that I ain't gonna slap you if ya ever accuse Daryl of anythin' like that again." She spoke slowly, coming to terms with the words she was saying even as they escaped her mouth.

Maggie nodded as the round drops of moisture emerged from the corners of her eyes and began trailing down her cheeks.

"Oh no. Damnit, Beth. Did ya hit her again?" Glenn's sleepy face was suddenly in between the sisters', concern evident in his eyes as he took in the state of his wife.

Maggie giggled even through her tears, and Beth smiled at her brother-in-law and shook her head.

"Promise I didn't. Just talkin'," Beth said, shifting her eyes from Glenn to Maggie.

Glenn smiled and pressed a kiss to the tops of each of their heads before getting up to his feet - leaving them both with an "I love you two, you know that?" - and walking off toward the other muffled voices that Beth was beginning to hear on the other side of the camp.

"I do wanna know somethin', though," Maggie started again, lowering her voice to a whisper. Her face was still wet with tears and those green eyes were still glistening, but there were no new ones forming. And that was good, although her solemn and serious expression had been replaced by a vaguely mischievous and curious one that quickly gnawed at the delicate calm that'd just only begun to drape itself over Beth.

"What's goin' on with you an' Daryl?"

Beth was actually relieved when her sister finally asked. This wasn't a difficult question. Though the _words_ – hundreds and millions of them rushing through her mind, all at once – to answer it were decidedly difficult to choose and voice.

"We're just –" Beth started, frowning at the lack of the instantaneous formation of the right word or combination of words inside her head. "I'unno. We're just us. We have this – this _thing_. Or somethin'." She shook her head in spite of herself, not meeting her sister's eyes.

Yes, there were things about their relationship that she couldn't quite define. Many things about them weren't neatly labeled or categorized in any way - and maybe that was because they weren't fully explored yet or maybe they were just undefinable and always would be. She couldn't use any sort of terms from _before_. She couldn't say " _we're just friends_ " or " _we're friends with benefits_ " or " _we're_ _dating_ ". None of those things worked. And Beth supposed that this wasn't _just_ applicable to her and Daryl's relationship. She'd guessed that most relationships were like this now, that'd be more accurate to say "he _saved_ me by staying inside my head after I got shot, after I escaped a sex farm. He makes me feel _okay_ even in this shitty world, where the undead walk around and even though I already died and maybe I'm just one of the undead too".

But that would just lead to more questions.

"Or _somethin_ '?" Maggie finally spoke again, repeating Beth's words in question. And she had one eyebrow arched and a crooked grin on her face and it made Beth feel itchy and squirmy and irritated. And maybe she _could_ slap Maggie again - she'd just apologize to her right afterward.

"Stop," Beth whispered. "It ain't like _that_. He just – he makes me feel – I'unno, Maggie – he makes me feel _safe_. Like I - like it doesn't matter that I don't wanna talk 'bout anythin' from - from _before_. Like I'm not just some ghost – or somethin' – no matter how much I feel an' act like one sometimes. No matter how much I wanna _be_ one sometimes. He makes me wanna _try_. To not be."

Maggie had stopped smiling at some point during the time when all these words had spilled and stuttered their way out of Beth's mouth. And it wasn't that any of those feelings were _new_ to Beth. It just felt somehow different now. Now that they'd been spoken. Out loud. By her own voice, in her own words. To her sister.

" _What_?" Beth asked, accusation thick in her voice as she took in her sister's fallen face, which was now almost sporting an actual frown. "Why the hell you _lookin'_ at me like that? You fuckin' asked."

"Nothin', Beth," Maggie responded quickly, features still a little flat though her overall demeanor had brightened infinitesimally. "I think – I just think it's beautiful. That's all. And as long as he's makin' you happy, ya'll have my blessin'."

"Like I'd care if I _didn't_ have your _blessin'_." The words were outside of Beth's mouth and lingering in the air between the two of them before she'd even had the chance to stop them. And while they weren't exactly untrue, she hadn't meant to say them so harshly.

Maggie truly did frown, then. But her voice wasn't angry or upset or hurt. It was soft. Sad. Distant even. "Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry. 'Course not. Just weird. You havin' a – well, a _thing_ – with a _man_ and daddy not bein' here to put the fear of Jesus in him at least once."

Beth winced, squeezing her eyes shut at the unwelcome mention of their father. She started to roll away from Maggie – figured she'd run off and find Daryl to distract her, which wouldn't be anything new or surprising to her sister, not when she said things like that – when Maggie's arm shot out, keeping her in place. Beth struggled against her sister for a moment before conceding, breathing heavily, anxiety crawling up the skin of her arms and her neck. Her face and body were turned away from Maggie, who was firmly but gently holding the back of Beth to her front as she whispered into her ear.

"I miss him too, Beth. We ain't gotta talk 'bout it. If ya don't wanna. But ya gotta know this – we _can_. Some day. If ya ever wanna. I could do all the talkin' an' you could just - you could just listen. Or the other way 'round. I just – I need you to know that. You ain't alone. Okay?"

Beth swallowed the lump that was lodged in her throat and then, once it was gone, took in a deep breath to quell the rise of the panic inside of her. She managed to nod, albeit jerkily, before Maggie released her grip. Beth got up quickly and walked away and into the woods, not sparing her sister – or anything behind her – a second glance.

xxx

Everyone had gathered at the camp site – it was time for a meeting. For some decisions to be made. Because they couldn't just stay here. Just like they couldn't stay at the last place. Or the one before that. And Beth wondered if there'd ever be _any_ place. Or if she even truly wanted there to be.

"Washington wasn't friendly." Rick spoke to the group. Beth looked at the others – noticed the wariness, the exhaustion. And it was more than just their facial expressions. It was a _feeling_. One shared among them all. One that hung thickly in the atmosphere, combining with the oxygen and nitrogen and argon and carbon dioxide, and they were all breathing it in then blowing it out just to breathe it in again.

"Ain't a place we can find any type o' home in there. And the people that we found there – us bein' so close, doesn't seem like the best idea." He continued.

"We already know that we can make it – we can survive. We have for so long. We've got the minds an' the abilities to make an' run a community. Did anybody see anythin' out there?"

Rick's comments and the question he posed were hopeful – optimistic even. They _could_ survive, given the right type of environment – at this point, _any_ environment, anything with four walls and a roof – Beth was sure of that. But what was left?

The silence was piercing for several minutes as Rick's eyes scanned the group, seeking an answer or at least some choices. Options. Ideas. Anything.

Aaron stepped forward then, clearing his throat. And Beth was confused initially, because if he'd found something, then why had he waited so long to say it? Formalities? Or maybe he was going to tell them that they were foolish - that there wasn't any more hope to be had.

He placed a hand on Rick's shoulder and the two shared a look before Rick nodded, granting Aaron some type of silent permission to speak.

"I was hopin' to hear somethin' better about DC," Aaron admitted. "But, after hearing what Rick has told us, I realize that we need something. We can't stay out here – nights gettin' cold as they are. Eric and Tanya and I came across something - some people - on our way here. It's why we didn't make it to the first spot, 'fore ya'll headed out."

And the energy - hovering within the air that they were all sharing - shifted, changed its form, even if just slightly. Aaron's voice wasn't conveying any sort of excitement or unspoken promise of the perfect settlement for their family.

"These people have a place. It's backtrackin' quite a bit, and I know that's not the best thing for us. That it would involve some risk, goin' back the way we came. But what are our other options at this point?"

"Did ya see it? The place?" Rick asked.

Aaron nodded. "They took us there. It's not like Alexandria. It's newer. Filled with people who'd been out there, out here, survivin'. It's not perfect. It's not protected, not like Alexandria was."

"There room for us?" Abraham asked in his demanding voice from where he sat a few feet in front of Beth.

Aaron nodded again. "Yes."

"How many people are there?" Chris, the Alexandrian, asked.

"A lot. Hundreds, or so it seemed," Aaron said, exchanging a look with Eric who nodded his head in confirmation.

"They know anything 'bout the other group – the one that attacked Alexandria?" Glenn this time.

Again, Aaron nodded. "We didn't get into specifics. But they are aware of them. Of what they've been doin'. Have found ways to - _deal_ with them."

Beth shuddered. There were _no_ ways to deal with those people. None that didn't involve death.

And as if he could sense her sudden anxiety, Daryl appeared by her side, grunting softly as he took a seat on the ground next to her.

"Are there houses there? Buildings? Structures? Or is it just another glorified camp site filled with more bodies?" Someone – Tara, Beth had guessed – asked, hints of suspicion and skepticism in her voice.

"There are houses. The community was built around a series of former mobile home parks and there's a lot of space. One big building – old community center or city hall or something – in the middle. Hard to see much of it all as ya come up on it, 'cause the bulk of it's up on a tall hill." Aaron responded.

Rick nodded. "Thank you, Aaron. For lookin' into it, without even knowin' what those people could'a been like."

Aaron smiled. "Like I told you all before. I know good people when I see them."

Rick's eyes rose to the group – his family, the Alexandrians. Questioning. Imploring.

Beth was shaking a little with just the _thought_ of backtracking, of the possibility of running into any of the people from Robert's farm. Of the fact that this community – maybe what would become their new home – and its people had been _dealing with_ the farm. Whatever that meant.

Daryl grabbed her hand then, leaning his body slightly toward hers so that she could hear him whisper. "Y'alright?"

She nodded, keeping her face forward. "'M fine. Just not real excited to be headin' back that direction, s'all."

"'S gonna be okay. I trust Aaron." Daryl traced small circles into her palm with his thumb. And the action and his words did manage to calm her a little. She trusted Daryl, and if he trusted Aaron – especially with something like this – then she would _try_.

In the end, they'd voted.

"It's only fair," Carol had said.

And the votes were largely, if not completely, in favor of heading to the new community. Of traveling back in the direction from which they'd come. And though Beth exercised her right to _not_ vote, simply because she felt that she was biased and that her thoughts involved some degree of conflict of interest, she'd been fairly confident in the ultimate outcome of the vote and her family's decision ever since the words had left Aaron's mouth.

They needed this. Something to hope for. Something to live for. They couldn't be nomads for the rest of their lives, after all. Not in this world. And it was too cold to keep on as they were.

They'd never been lost or wandering without purpose. Just on a journey without a definite or known destination. And sometimes that was a frustrating and difficult and exhausting thing – to stay motivated and alert and just to _survive_ without knowing if it any of it would be worth a damn in the end.

And, yes, she had concerns. She could've asked more questions, though Aaron likely wouldn't have been able to answer them. And she just couldn't. Not now. Not when she could feel the beginnings of some hope here, among her family members. Hope that they needed. To survive.

xxx

The journey to the community – which Aaron now referred to as the Colony – was about three days' worth on foot. Mileage-wise, throughout the course of their multiple journeys since leaving Alexandria, they really hadn't gone all that far. It only _felt_ as though they'd walked along the entire east coast. But getting a vehicle was too risky without knowing for sure that enemies weren't nearby. Enemies from the farm or otherwise. Simple as it seemed, it'd become clear that anyone who'd survived this long had taken to the creation of or assimilation into one of two types of communities: good or bad. And Beth guessed it was just the nature of the world – the former one as well as this one – to divide itself based on the intentions and spirits and souls of the people who inhabited it.

And though Beth still felt apprehensive, she could see more clearly as each day passed that her family – their group – really did _need_ this. As much as they needed water and food and air. Traveling as a large group had forced her to recognize that people were becoming weaker, some had fallen ill, and the overall morale was on the verge of collapsing into a dark and bottomless abyss. But the hope for _something_ \- the very possibility of it - had rejuvenated them in ways that, to Beth, could never compare to medication or a heap of food or warm water. It was an intrinsic healing.

So she blocked out her feelings of dread and apprehension and fear. For the greater good. It made no sense for them to keep wandering or to keep splitting up to seek for shelter; they were just running their bodies ragged as winter set in. And she didn't want them to lose any more people if they could help it. So she let herself walk among _-_ and _with_ \- the hopeful.

xxx

It was the final day of their journey to the Colony. They were all moving more slowly. It took a bit longer for them, now, to shake the chill from their bones and muscles and ligaments and force themselves to keep moving, as the weather and drastic drop in temperature - that'd once been mostly exclusive to the nights – was now bleeding into the late morning hours and slowly beginning to expand and linger throughout the duration of the day.

It seemed to even have some effect on the inner workings of their minds. Or Beth's mind, at least, which could very well have been more susceptible since it'd been damaged. And maybe this was just another unforeseen consequence of her brain injury, but she could almost feel the resistance and slowing of the thoughts inside of her head. She was aware of the delay in her responses – verbal and physical and reflexive - but she couldn't speed them up and not for lack of trying.

As she drove her knife through the skull of a walker who was all but glued to the ground by the early frost on that final morning, she wondered if the weather dampened their hunger or had any effects on walkers in general – on their thoughts, assuming they had any, or their responses, or their senses.

She shook her head to herself, dismissing the thoughts from her mind, as she removed her knife from the walker's temple in slow motion.

She stayed crouched for a moment, touching her face with her cold hands with the hopes of waking her up some. She checked her fingertips and nail beds of her hands and toes for any signs of frostbite or compromised circulation, as she figured that'd be something she wouldn't be able to sense.

She felt sluggish in a way that reminded her of the walkers they'd seen in Washington. It could have just been the weather or her lack of sleep or undernourishment or simply the way she perceived herself from the inside. But it was causing a slow roll of anxiety to unwind itself inside her.

And even when she looked up and ahead as all the others in the group passed by her and spotted Maggie and Daryl walking side-by-side, engaged in some kind of discussion, she didn't even care. Had no desire to know what they were talking about or, more likely, what Maggie was saying to him. And normally, she would have at least tried to get Maggie to back off, if not give her a friendly reminder to _mind her own fucking business_ or _stop harassing him, Jesus, Maggie..._

She didn't even really care, she realized, as she stood up and kept walking, one sluggish step after the other.

Xxx

It was early evening or late afternoon when they reached a small forested area at the base of a tall hill. Aaron turned, holding his hands up to signal everyone to stop walking.

"It's just up there," he said, addressing the group, pointing to the large slope of earth. "Everyone stay here. Try to stay calm, be quiet. They're on high alert but as long as I can find the ones who brought us here, they'll let us in."

He turned around then and started up the hill. And the rest of them were quiet, save for the whispers and the crunching of the last of the dead leaves littering the earth as members of the group shifted their weight or sat down on the ground. Everyone was just waiting. Holding their breaths, forming their own final countdowns in their heads.

Daryl came over to Beth, who'd been one of the few who'd taken to sitting. Her legs felt weak and she knew she'd need a lot more energy - and soon - than she currently had, in order to make the hike up the hill looming in front of them.

He sunk to the ground beside her, and she felt his eyes looking over her face and body, scanning quickly from one side to the other, one region to the next. Assessing. Protecting.

"'S wrong?" He asked, taking his crossbow and pack off and setting them to the side. Had to be hard as shit to carry all of that all the time, Beth thought, musing over the weight of his crossbow, which she'd experienced herself many times over.

"Nothin'," she said, meeting his eyes. His nose was a little red from the cold wind that'd been biting at them since the middle of the day. She was satisfied to see that he'd finally changed into a long-sleeved shirt.

"Lie," he whispered, bringing a thumb up to his mouth, eyes not moving away from hers.

Beth shrugged. She really wasn't bothered by anything in particular, not at the moment anyway. "I'm just real tired, Daryl. Not just my body, from all o' this walkin'. But my head. 'S like it's all outta juice. Ain't runnin' right."

He nodded then. "Me too. Soon, Beth. We'll get to rest. 'S what you need."

He was silent for a few moments before continuing. "Listen, I's talkin' to Maggie earlier, an'—"

"Ugh, just ignore her," Beth cut him off, lifting a heavy hand and waving it dismissively with some effort. "She's insane, sometimes. And I'd bet the weather ain't helpin' her head out none either."

He smiled a little. "Must run in the family. Wasn't bad or nothin', though. She just said some - ya know, some stuff an' then I asked her if – well, I mean it's up to you – but if – when we get t' this place. If it's like how Aaron said. An' there's houses. Places t' stay. That you could be with me, if ya wanted. Stay with me – er, at the same place, I mean." His eyes darted around as he struggled to piece together the words and the propositional context behind them. And he intermittently bit on his thumbnail and the skin around it as he spoke. And she wished she could laugh right now. Wished she could kiss him, maybe.

She couldn't though, and despite the taut skin of her face and the sudden heaviness of her eyelids, Beth managed to smile weakly at him.

"'Course, Daryl," she whispered, nodding.

"I mean, ya ain't gotta decide now," he said quickly, as if he hadn't heard her. Voice was quieter, maybe nervous. "We don't even – ya know, who knows what this place'll really be? An' I'd understand if ya wanted to stay closer to Maggie, so – "

Beth reached her hand to his face, cutting his words short. She let the relative heat, radiating there from her palm, warm the sharp chill of the skin on his cheek. And she wondered how this man – this man, who could press his lips to her own and touch and kiss and lick so many other places on her body that'd, until him, until the world had ended and until she'd died, been mostly untouched and unexplored – could feel so unsure about this. About her wanting to be near him. Wanting to stay with him.

"Daryl. No matter what this place is like, I wanna stay with you. Even if it weren't even possible, I'd _find a way_ to stay with you." And he heard her this time and he understood it and she knew it because she felt a strong but subtle shudder pass through his body as she spoke.

He leaned in a bit closer to her, eyes somehow darker even in the light of the day that shone down and onto them through the tall trees, brought his lips closer to her ear and whispered: "I wanna kiss you, Beth. So bad right now." And he brought a fingertip up and lightly traced her lower lip from one corner to the other.

And then she shuddered and he knew it and felt it. And she knew he knew and she didn't care.

He backed his head up a bit then and she shifted her eyes to his and silently mouthed her response, heart thudding a bit harder at the pulse point in the hollow of her throat.

"So do it."

He sighed and it was full and meaningful. And then he leaned in again, lips coming toward hers. And she was surprised at his boldness. And a little put off by it, if she were being honest, though not in a necessarily _bad_ way. But then, at the very last moment, he shifted his trajectory just slightly, placing a small but somehow sensual peck on her cheek – the scarred one – and it was somehow so light that it was difficult to distinguish from the wind.

And though his lips and face were as cold as hers, she felt a distinct warmth there on her cheek, where his lips had just been. And she wanted that warmth to be all over her body, because nothing else felt as good or as comforting or as safe right then, and maybe nothing ever would.

"Promise it ain't all gonna be for nothin'," he said, voice a little rougher, a little louder. "I got a good feelin'. 'Bout this. Knowin' it's people who've been out here, had to survive an' shit. Ya know? Ain't gonna be no damn weekly cake walks or none o' that shit."

He looked at Beth then, and she couldn't confirm or deny her own feelings quite yet.

But, as she saw Aaron approaching them in the distance (with a few people trailing slightly behind him), she met Daryl's eyes and told him the truth. The truth for now.

"I _want_ it to be good. I wanna _try_ to feel good. 'Bout it. Just want us all to be good. Safe."

Aaron reached them eventually with three other men standing behind him. They were clean but not as well-dressed as the residents of Alexandria had been when Beth first entered its gates. Appeared rougher. And that was more a good than bad sign in her eyes.

"Guys, this is Paul, Dwight, and Ezekial," he addressed their group. The three men looked at them, not smiling but not exactly frowning. They didn't speak just then. There was nothing but silence and the movement of their eyes as they took in the sight of the family. No rehearsed _"welcome to our home!"_ speeches or gift baskets or overly-pleasant pleasantries. Also not a bad sign.

"And this is my family." Aaron spoke again, finishing the introduction. And despite the neutral, almost disinterested, expressions of the people from the Colony, he _did_ smile. And Beth could see and feel and taste the hope exuding from it. And she tried not to look too hard, because she knew that hope could be contagious. And she wasn't quite there yet.

One of the men – Paul, Beth thought, as she studied the tall, thin man with long, wavy brown hair – spoke then, abruptly and firmly.

"Follow us up the hill. Once we reach the top, you'll drop all o' your weapons. We'll have a meetin' o' sorts, explain how this place works. Ya decide to stay, you can have your weapons back, though many of our people don't use 'em or keep 'em around. But we _all_ know _how_ to use them – just keep that in mind." Though his last statement was undoubtedly some sort of warning, his voice wasn't threatening. It was straightforward. Matter-of-fact. _Point A to point B to point C_.

Paul turned around then – allotted no time for questions or comments or concerns – and the other two Colonists followed suit and they began to lead the group up the hill.

Beth tried to focus on the ground, on the way her boots slid against the damp terrain and how they sunk slightly into the muddied ground as she pushed off of one leg and then the other; on the way the sun was directly in front of her, warming her skin marginally despite the weakness of its heat.

But then Daryl placed his big, rough hand in hers and was holding on with a strong grip and when she looked over at him and _felt_ the hope there, from him of all people – on his face, in his eyes, in his touch and breaths and posture – the unwelcome prickle of fear worked its way up her spine, invading her mind from the base of her skull.


	16. some day you'll sing it out loud

_**A/N: Okay, it's really late so I'll try to make my note short and sweet.**_

 _ **Chapter 16 ~ there's a lot going on here. we'll get a sense of the colony - externally, as well as a glimpse at its inner workings. we'll get some insight on our characters' feelings and thoughts and hopes. they've spent the day, in this chapter, soaking in a lot of information and next chapter they will make a final decision (and some other things will happen that are super important as well). so i know this is long-ish and a lot of it pertains directly to descriptions of the colony and the introduction of some new characters, but all are necessary elements for the plot and greater scheme of the story. hopefully you're not bored to tears, and hopefully the ending will be worth the wait. **_

_**to answer a review & some messages - the colony and its systems are inspired the comics, but will NOT be entirely identical to any one camp. several characters' names will be familiar to anyone who reads the comics, but, again these characters are only VERY loosely based on the ones from the comic/show. i'm just really not talented at making names up, okay!? haha. **_

_**thanks for reading if you've stuck with me this long. still working on that ole outline to give you an idea of the length of this thing. but i will say exciting things are happening next chapter and the one that follows. xoxo**_

 _ **xx**_

 **chapter 16: some day you'll sing it out loud**

The Colony wasn't at all what Beth had been expecting, and she found it difficult to imagine that it – or any parts of it – had existed before the turn. That there'd always been this small village that seemed to exist on its own little piece of earth, high above the ground.

When they first reached the top of the hill, Beth had stopped in her tracks and spent a good amount of time just staring.

First thing she saw was the large, central building that Aaron had told them about – it was old, similar to a plantation house in its structure, located on the northernmost corner of the large expansion of land that made up the Colony. The building was comprised of brick – now faded – and had rows of large windows lining each of its three stories. Dirty white shutters framed the windows and dirty white columns extended from the front slant of the roof to the concrete foundation of the large porch overlaying the ground underneath.

The elevation on which the building stood was more or less equivalent to the land on which the group stood, on the southernmost end. The hill dipped in between the north and south points, forming a ravine of sorts, which was occupied by the rows of houses – the rows and rows _and rows_ of them. Mobile homes, mostly, and Beth couldn't remember the last time she'd seen so many intact dwellings at one time and in one place.

She could see a few people standing outside, shielding their eyes from the sun with their hands and looking out towards the group.

A main gravel road divided the valley into eastern and western sections, and it extended from the north to the south – Beth could see the continuation of it beyond the main building. She guessed that it was the primary means for entering or exiting the Colony, at least if vehicles were involved. There were smaller roads, which were actually more like dirt paths, lining the rows of houses.

There were walls – or, at least, the beginnings of walls. They weren't complete – didn't quite create a fully-enclosed barrier. But Beth could see the large groups of people working on them, the piles of wood and steel beside them, the tools they had and were using to make the place more secure.

"They'll be done by mid-winter," the man named Ezekiel said, surveying the work the other Colony members were doing on the walls. He was dark-skinned and his hair was long and knotted and white-grey in color, as was his beard. He was soft-spoken and seemed intuitive to Beth. He seemed to be willing to offer answers to questions that hadn't even been asked.

The group descended the hill, making their way toward the large gullied area, following the three men from the Colony until they stopped at the very edge of the community. The walls didn't block off the entrance through here – not yet, anyway.

Dwight, a younger man with stringy light-colored hair and scars covering one entire half of his face (Beth couldn't quite tell what might've caused them), turned around then and addressed the group.

"Weapons," he said simply in a raspy and firm yet almost-bored voice. "Drop them. Now."

The group began moving around then, fishing out and placing their various weapons of choice - or circumstance - on the ground. Beth cut her eyes to Daryl, who she'd noticed had hesitated briefly before sliding the strap of his crossbow over his head. He nodded at her. Subtly. Just once.

She removed her knife and gun from their holsters, placing them on the ground next to Daryl's crossbow. She wiggled her foot around inside her boot, satisfied that the trusty steak knife was still there.

"You'll get them back if you decide to stay," Paul said, voice a bit softer than Dwight's. He was the pacifist of the three, Beth had decided.

Beth inhaled almost as if she were preparing to dip her head under the rushing waters of a stream as they continued forward, stepping over the invisible threshold and into the Colony.

She realized fairly quickly that this was a relatively new community. Aaron had mentioned that – but it somehow felt newer than she'd imagined. The people they passed as they walked down the main road – still following the three men – didn't smile or greet them in any way. They just _looked_. Beth didn't smile at them either.

She noticed a few kids sitting on the ground outside one of the homes, playing with matchbox cars. They wore dirty clothes, had dirty faces. But they were laughing and arguing and didn't appear to be afraid, even with the sudden entrance of several new and unfamiliar people. When Beth saw that the lower arm of one of the boys was covered with a makeshift cast, she turned her face forward, clenching a fist at her side.

The men were leading them to the large building, where Beth guessed they'd meet with the person or people in charge of this place. She wondered if there'd be more interviews. More questions.

Paul held the door open when they finally reached the building. They'd had to walk an impressive distance just to get from one end of the Colony to the other.

The group members entered the building, single-file style, with Dwight leading them. Ezekiel stood opposite Paul beside the doorway, conspicuously studying each of them as they passed.

The interior of the building wasn't exactly what Beth had expected either – though, in all honesty, she wasn't sure what she was expecting of _anything_ anymore. The layout was loosely reminiscent of the art museum's – on a much smaller scale. There were people were milling around - some sat at desks and appeared to be working or reading or writing while others lounged on the various sofas and chairs and ottomans - which were by no means clean or brand-new or matching, but they were something. She could smell food being prepared, heard faint laughter and conversation echoing from down the halls.

Dwight led them up the stairwell, bypassing the second floor and heading straight for the top.

Beth noticed several hallways and doors - which were all shut – as soon as they reached the landing at the top of the stairs. Beth wondered vaguely what was inside the rooms – did special people get to live in here? Was this where everything essential to life in this world was kept? And what exactly were the things that these people considered essential?

Dwight turned, wordlessly, and walked to the end of the hallway that veered off to the right. One door was open, at the very end. Dwight still knocked.

"Yes?" A man's voice.

"Gregory. We have new arrivals."

The silence among the group was deafening – filled with anticipation and fear and hope and dread and breaths and pounding hearts. Beth wasn't afraid. Though she didn't trust easily – not any more – she'd been reassured by the repetitive _"if you decide to stay"_ \- a mantra that she'd taken to repeating inside her own head - which, to her, meant that there would be no coercion here, so long as these people were genuine. And she hadn't discovered any reason to believe otherwise.

A few moments later, an elderly gentleman appeared at the doorway. His body was curved and his spine kyphotic as he leaned his weight onto some sort of stick or primitive cane. His hair was scarce, but there were patches of white, thin strands on the sides. His skin was covered in age spots and wrinkles.

"Hello," he said, straightening his spine with much effort in order to stand more upright, which caused an audible cracking of bones that almost made Beth wince.

"Name's Gregory. Glad you're here. This here's the Colony. I'm the founder. These three –" he braced a hand on the door frame and waved his walking stick at Dwight, Ezekiel, and Paul – "well, if ya put 'em all together, they'd be my right-hand man. They run the place, I just tell 'em how." He smiled.

"We still got a lot of work to do 'round here. I know it. Can see it in your faces, too. But we're the biggest settlement in the area, far 's I know. I found this place a long while back. Found a few people seekin' refuge in the trailers an' in this here, what we call the Colony Hall. They'd go out on runs an' find a few more people lookin' for a place to stay an' people just - well, they just stayed. An' I figured we needed some sort o' plan to make it sustainable."

"Do you recruit?" Aaron asked.

Gregory wasn't deterred by the question. "Not exactly, I wouldn't say recruitin'." He looked over to the three men who'd led them here, nodded and continued speaking. "We ain't lookin' to let this place get too terribly big. We got 'bout a hundred folks here. Seems to be a good number for now, 'less we intend on expandin' the place, puttin' up some more houses. But we always got room for _good people_. Survivin' people. People like ya'll."

"How're ya so sure we're good?" Abraham asked, crossing his muscled arms over his chest.

Gregory smiled, extending his head up off of his rounded shoulders as best he could to scan the group in its entirety. "Well, there's 'bout – what? – eighteen or so of ya's? Y'could o' killed these three. But ya didn't. Y'could o' refused to drop your weapons, even though this is our place. But ya didn't. Could'a brought in all your weapons an' took this place over. Wouldn't be the first time. An' a group this big –"

He paused to shrug and purse his lips together in a way that felt, to Beth, like a gesture of resignation or acceptance, "group this big's either chock full o' bad ones or good ones."

Beth appreciated Gregory's candor and his mentioning of something – one of the few things – that was becoming an obvious piece of reality in this world to Beth. That people were either _bad_ or _good_. And people grouped themselves with others who were either bad or good. No areas of grey could exist in this world.

"We got 'nough houses for 'em, boys?" Gregory addressed the three Colonists who'd led the group here.

"Oh, definitely," Paul answered.

Gregory smiled. "Good, then. Why don't ya'll show 'em 'round, tell 'em 'bout how this place runs? Then, whatever ya'll decide, you can stay for the night. There's always a meal here, in the Hall, 'least once every other day or so. There's kitchens in each o' the houses with runnin' water – cold, but runnin'. But we like to provide meals an' eat together when we can. An' we got some good cooks."

Beth felt the subtle nudging of irritation at her gut at the mention of _cooks and kitchens and family meals_ , all of which clearly pleased the Alexandrians.

"Ya can have a chance to ask all the questions I'm sure ya got later on this evenin'." Gregory nodded once at his three comrades and then again at the group before disappearing behind the door.

xxx

The group toured the Colony. Looked into the small, simple houses – some had actual mattresses, others just blanket beds on the floor. Most had makeshift fire pits or fireplaces, either inside or outside. No electricity. Some houses had solar-powered lanterns and lights. Running water from the well that supplied the area. There were a few portable generators scattered around the various yards. A few dilapidated vehicles. Logical.

It wasn't exactly cozy and the people weren't exactly friendly. But, somehow, the standoffishness made Beth feel more at ease.

Dwight was explaining the Colonists' plan for the walls when Rick spoke up.

"So what's the overall goal here? Of this place?"

Dwight turned to him, keeping the scarred half of his face positioned so that the shadow cast by the setting sun obscured it, kept it hidden.

"Survival." No hesitation.

Rick nodded, seemingly satisfied with his answer. Beth was too.

"Then why no weapons?" Rick continued.

"We have some," Dwight shrugged. "Just most people don't keep 'em on 'em all the time. We ain't been here all that long. People ain't comfortable with havin' neighbors that they don't hardly know with a trailer full o' guns. So we try to respect that."

"How do ya deal with – ya know – walkers, then? Or other people? Bad people?" Glenn asked.

Dwight's mouth twisted into some sort of smile and he nodded, stringy strands of his hair bouncing against his face.

"We don't. Not exactly. Walkers – the geeks, yeah. But we don't need guns an' bows an' arrows for them. But people - anyone come up here lookin' for an attack, then yeah. We got some weapons for that, too. But we got even more'n that - we got people on the outside so that's happenin' less an' less. _Allies_."

An image of Robert's bloodied face flashed through Beth's mind. She closed her eyes and took a breath, pushing it away. She couldn't deny or escape, however, that the curiosity about the Colony's relationship with the farm had been in the back of her mind – yet, prominently so – since their arrival here. But this wasn't the time.

They continued the tour and informational session, and Beth learned that they wouldn't exactly be assigned "jobs" here. They'd be expected to help out, keep the place running, jump in the guard rotation until the walls were finished, general upkeep.

"Don't want no one gettin' too comfortable just doin' one thing. Never know when you're gonna be the one everyone else is dependin' on," Ezekiel added by way of explanation.

Which made sense, Beth guessed. She'd experienced that first-hand, before – when she'd had to learn to fight and kill and survive when her only role up until then had been helping out with what could loosely be categorized as household chores and glorified babysitting. Didn't do shit for her, in the long run.

The Hall was where Gregory and the so-called "founders" lived. It did have electricity, powered by a generator. Planning took place inside the Hall, as did meetings. And the meals, when it was possible and for anyone who wanted to join. All Colonists, however, were expected to attend meetings. In the cold months, the Hall was open to others for warmth and security.

It was amazing, really. The land here. The houses that'd been left mostly unharmed or had been rebuilt. The supplies and materials. The people. The fact that they were all somehow _good_ and all in one place. It was a lot for Beth to process and wrap her damaged mind around.

Without actually intending to, Beth found herself waiting. For something. For the other shoe to drop. For Dwight to turn and smile wryly and scream _"just kidding!"_ , and whip out a shotgun and open fire on them or burn scars into the sides of their faces to match his own.

But none of that happened.

After they'd covered most of the grounds, Dwight simply shrugged and said, "it's a work in progress. But it's gonna be great. It's gonna be a real place. An' you guys could help us."

And then Paul invited them to come to the Hall for dinner.

xxx

Tables and mismatched chairs filled several rooms on the ground floor of the Hall. Large blankets were spread across floors, complete with improvised place settings, in others.

The kitchen was large – looked like it belonged in the basement of a church Beth had once attended. Where the women's guild would gather and serve punch and casseroles and cakes after the sermon.

Women and men and children flitted around the interior of the kitchen, scooping soups and vegetables and pieces of bread into various dishes.

Beth found a chair at one of the tables. Though the place wasn't clean in the way one would normally consider _clean_ to be, she almost felt too dirty to be here. Like maybe she should take her bowl outside and sit on the floor of the earth rather than in this chair.

Maggie sat next to her, blowing on her spoonful of soup before lifting it into her mouth, smile stretched widely across her face. Yeah, so they rationed. They'd have to, Beth guessed, with all of the residents here - there were more than fifty other people – in addition to her family – who'd shown up to the dinner. And it wasn't squirrel or artificially-sweetened syrup filled up with soured, mushy pieces of fruit. It was hot and it was actual food. And it was strange.

Daryl came over and sat in the chair next to Beth on her other side, catching her eyes briefly after he plopped down, food in hand.

Beth's stomach was growling insistently at the tantalizing smell of the food. But she felt nauseous. She picked up the spoon and dipped it into the soup, stirring it absentmindedly. Her mind was nowhere in particular, but everywhere all at once. And maybe it was just simply discomfort wrought from the unfamiliarity of all of this.

"Ain't hungry?" Daryl whispered even as he loudly slurped his own soup. Beth turned her head, almost smiling at the sight of him; of course he wouldn't use a spoon. He held the small bowl up to his mouth with both hands, head tipped back as he gulped down the contents. Trickles of the brownish liquid spilled down his chin, forming beads in his stubble.

"Not after watchin' _you_ eat," she whispered back. And maybe things would be okay. Daryl was here. Rick was here. Maggie and Glenn were here. Carol and Michonne and Carl and Judith. And none of them seemed to be uncomfortable. And the force with which she was trying to ignore the general unease lingering within her was tangible, in a way. She could almost feel her viscera, her organs, struggling to push away the nausea that threatened to cause bile or vomit to rise up and into her esophagus.

"An' who might this beauty be?"

Beth startled at the unexpected voice from behind her. It was Gregory, apparently formally introducing himself to her family. She'd noticed him earlier, mingling and inserting himself into the various conversations.

She half-turned her head, expecting to find his eyes affixed to Maggie. But, no, she wouldn't be so lucky. He was clearly addressing her. A flash of yellow caught her eyes as his lips parted and turned upwards, forming a toothy grin.

"Oh –" Beth said, dropping her spoon into her soup bowl with a clank. "I'm – uh – Beth." Her hands fidgeted in her lap as she remained seated with her neck extended to look at Gregory's face. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to stand or curtsy or shake his hand or _what_ exactly. So she just sat and blinked at him as he looked her over.

She watched his eyes – she figured they'd once been blue, maybe like hers or even Daryl's, but now appeared almost grey and weathered, maybe with what he'd seen, maybe with cataracts – and the subtle lifting of them as he studied first the scar and then the depressed tissue and bone marking the skin of her forehead. His eyes dipped lower, then, to the scar across her cheek. He seemed to be making note of them, unabashed as he was in his ministrations. Making note of her, maybe. Committing them and her to memory. Or maybe she was just a paranoid girl with scars and he was just a curious old soul.

Daryl cleared his throat beside her.

"I'm Daryl," he said gruffly, wiping the soup residue from his lips and chin before extending the same, soiled hand toward Gregory.

Gregory shifted his eyes quickly to Daryl and nodded down at his hand before taking it in his own.

"Pleasure to meet the both of ya." He said as he turned to walk toward the other end of the table.

Beth returned to playing with her food for the next twenty minutes, ignoring the tingling at the back of her scalp, ignoring the sensation that her scars had all been reopened.

xxx

After dinner, they gathered in one of the larger rooms on the ground floor of the Hall. The walls were lined with couches and sofas and lounge chairs. Beth guessed it must've been a conference room or town hall meeting room before or something like that. An old white projector screen was still on the back wall, half-rolled up, covered in dust.

Gregory invited them all to make themselves comfortable.

Rick sat near the front of the room, as did the rest of the family. Mostly on the floor. Which was more comfortable to Beth, anyway.

Gregory took a seat in a large chair that faced the group. He lit a cigar, sighed, and smiled at them.

"I'm sure ya got questions," he said, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke, the path of which Beth found herself tracing with her eyes, her mind looking for patterns or signs or warnings there.

"A'right. First off, we allowed t' leave at any time we please?" Rick asked.

Gregory nodded. "Of course. Even when the walls're finished. We ain't holdin' ya hostage."

"Where d'ya get your supplies?"

"We have a very sophisticated – well, trading system, I guess you'd say – with other groups nearby. It's handled by the Colonists who work in the trade ring. Dwight, Ezekiel, and Paul are a part o' that."

"What do you trade for the supplies?" Rick continued.

"Depends. Sometimes it's food. Back in the spring, we grew some crops, had some small gardens. Sometimes it's firewood. Clothes. Ammunition. Weapons. Most often, we trade for nothin' more'n the promise of protection."

"Protection?"

"Now, I know ya'll been 'round 'nough to know that the geeks – well, they ain't the only things out there. Ain't the worst things out there. Not no more. The groups we choose t' trade with – well, we make sure they got certain _strengths_. Abilities." Gregory shifted in his chair, tapping the ash from the cigar into a basin on the floor.

Rick nodded, musing over the information. His expression gave no hard insight into his particular thoughts.

Beth had realized, almost instantly and with a chill that ran from her toes to her fucked up head, what Gregory may've been implying. And, more importantly, _to whom_ he may've been referring. Had a pretty good idea, at least.

"Those groups made o' good people, too?" Rick finally asked.

"We don' ask or intrude on the business of others. Not of the ones who're protectin' us. We give 'em what they want, so long as we got it readily available. We don't ask no questions. It's really our only rule. The trades happen in discreet locations, ain't nothin' any of ya'll gotta be involved in if ya don't wanna. But, here, we believe that goin' back to the roots o' civilization is the key to rebuildin' it." Gregory elaborated.

And with that, Beth's _pretty good idea_ became an _almost-absolute certainty_.

And the dots were connecting inside her mind just like the scars and slashes and bite marks that were permanently engraved on her skin and in her soul.

The Colony had found ways to _deal_ with the group that'd attacked Alexandria – those had been Aaron's words, which had been Colonists' words. Ways to deal. With the farm. With the group of clearly _bad_ people – people who'd destroyed Alexandria and killed Sasha and Ben's family and countless others. People who'd almost killed Beth for good, disintegrating the last remnants of who she'd been.

She inhaled deeply, tried to slow down her heart and her breaths and her brain. Because, she supposed, if the Colonists were really _allies_ with the farm, then what did she have to worry about? Unless, by chance, they came _here_. Unless, by chance, they recognized her or any of her family members from their attack on Alexandria. Or from their attacks in the woods. Which were all very possible scenarios. But considering the amount of people here and the primitive professionalism by which the Colony appeared to take care of its "business" – Beth concluded that she was probably safer here than anywhere else.

So she could let it go. Pretend it never happened. It's what she'd been planning to do all along. She may've never spoken about it if it hadn't been for the fight in which she and Daryl and Ben had haplessly found themselves with Robert and his men. And, even then, she hadn't said much – not that she had to say anything. And _they_ were dead.

And, yes, her family knew that she had experienced _some_ encounter with the men. But she hadn't gone into specifics. And Gregory said that none of them would have to deal in any way with the "trade ring" and, therefore, none of them would have to deal in any way with the other group or groups with whom they did their business – including, if her suspicions and instincts were correct, the farm.

 _But ol' Bobby wasn't the only one who hurt you, sugar,_ a cruel and unwelcome voice whispered, invading the darkest depths of her mind.

 _And you weren't the only one bein' hurt_. And that cruel voice was almost snickering at her then.

xxx

After the meeting, Ezekiel showed the family to their living space, a cluster of uninhabited trailers. He gave them candles and battery-powered lanterns and piles of blankets and pillows and bottles of water he'd collected from the well.

"We'll expect a decision, come mornin'. Stay or go, your weapons'll be kept in the Hall for the night an' yours to keep."

Paul was nearby, grey wool cap now covering his mop of brown hair. He smiled at the group. "I hope ya'll can find rest, some peace here tonight."

And then they walked away.

And everyone – almost simultaneously – whipped their heads to Rick's face.

"Place seems legit," Tara offered, breaking the silence, which hadn't exactly been uneasy though certainly not comfortable.

"There's other kids here. 'S a good sign," Maggie said, slowly rocking the blanketed and sleeping form of Judith in her arms.

"Walls're shit," Daryl said, voice low.

"They ain't done yet, didn't ya listen?" Abraham countered.

"They got protection to make up for it. In the meantime," Carol added. "That's smart. Gotta count for somethin'."

"Yeah, but all of that sounded kind'a fishy-" Glenn said, voice tapering slightly when Maggie snapped her head towards his. It was obvious what side of the fence she'd chosen.

"If I may, I have to admit that, while the bartering system was once a perfectly-functioning arrangement prior to the introduction of the common currency exchange practices with which we are all most familiar, I behest you all to consider that, in those times, there were no existent dead – undead – organisms threatening to cause the utter and total extinction of the human species and thereby influencing the intentions of people who might otherwise be civil." Eugene rambled. Beth sighed with impatience.

"What choice do we have?" Aaron said. His voice was quiet. But his words were so, so loud – and they echoed across the shapeless formation they'd created and resounded in their minds – almost visibly.

Because then everyone else was quiet. Because he was right. It was freezing outside. The winters seemed colder now, for reasons beyond the obvious lack of a stable, consistent home with a furnace or electricity or gas. Going back to Alexandria wasn't an option, not right now. Washington wasn't an option, unless they wanted to become research participants. Wandering the woods looking for another option _wasn't an option_.

"M'kay," Rick said, nodding, eyes trained on the ground. "Tentative decision to stay. Sleep on it, all o' you. Don't mean it's final. Ain't all up to me."

The rest of the Colony was dark. Quiet – only the lingering trail of Rick's whispers being carried away by the wind remained. And they'd be gone soon, too.

Wordlessly, everyone began segregating into pairs and groups of three and four and five and selected their homes. Well, their homes for now. For tonight.

Rick, Michonne, Judith, Carl, and Carol entered the first home in the row of houses on their – Beth wasn't sure – block, maybe? In their cul-de-sac? The cluster of houses they'd been offered was at the northern end of the Colony and none of the closest houses appeared to be occupied.

Ben stayed with Aaron and Eric and Tanya, an Alexandrian. Chris stayed with a group of other Alexandrians.

Tara stayed with Maggie and Glenn. Maggie'd shared a look – a silent offering, maybe – with Beth, who'd met her sister's eyes briefly and then shifted them away and to the ground, before turning and walking away.

Morgan had initially insisted on staying outside, but with some type of _encouragement_ provided by Abraham, he'd eventually agreed to stay with Abraham and Rosita.

Beth hadn't realized she'd been standing there – just watching them all split off in their own unique ways and selecting their homes and wondering what how they were all feeling and what they were thinking and if they felt _safe_ – until she heard Daryl clear his throat.

And it was just the two of them outside now.

He was standing outside the last house in the cluster - the one closest to the hill, closest to the large gap in the walls. Closest to the woods that stretched beyond and to the north.

He jerked his head tightly, beckoning her to follow him.

xxx

It wasn't exactly _weird_ , being here – in the Colony, in this tiny single-wide house with 2 small bedrooms and one small bathroom and a small but functional kitchen – with Daryl. Maybe it was just Daryl that made it _feel_ not exactly weird.

They hadn't really spoken. He'd held the door open and locked it behind her, set the dimly-glowing lantern on the counter. No mattresses here, but Daryl had snagged a pile of blankets and some pillows and was arranging them on the floor of the living area. No furniture whatsoever, really, but Beth supposed none of them had come fully furnished. And maybe she liked it better this way, anyway.

Daryl removed his pack and collapsed onto the floor noisily and with some light exaggeration, sprawling himself out like a starfish, clothes and boots still donned, dirt still coating his skin and clotted up underneath his fingernails. He folded his hands behind his head and sighed, staring at the ceiling.

Beth wandered around the house, lantern in hand, checking out each of the rooms and all of the closets. Made sure the windows were locked. There weren't any curtains, but most of the windows were framed by blinds and that was good enough for her, even though many of them were torn or chewed up or missing chunks or entire slats.

After exploring, she circled back to the living room.

Daryl shifted his gaze from the ceiling to her face.

"C'mere," he whispered as he scooted himself over and onto his side, making room for her on the floor beside him.

Beth placed the lantern on the floor, near his head, and lowered herself to the ground. She positioned herself on her side, mirroring him.

"What're ya thinkin'?" he asked, blue eyes studying her own.

She shrugged. Because she really didn't know. No matter how many simple mathematical equations and algorithms she assembled in her mind to represent their situation.

They needed to survive. Hence, they needed shelter and food and water. The Colony had all of those; therefore, if they stayed, they'd survive.

She could rationalize. But he'd asked what she was _thinking_.

And she was _thinking_ about how maybe these people had known about what was happening on the farm. And they did nothing. Because of rules.

She was _thinking_ , with a sudden ferocity, about Robert's teeth, clamped down on her chest while he ground his erection against her leg. And she was _thinking_ about how still she'd forced herself to be, how she'd ignored the urge to lift her knee up and nail him in the balls - how she'd _pretended_ that it'd hurt so that he'd finally just come in his pants and get the fuck off of her so she could prepare herself for the next one.

And images of men rubbing their cocks with their hands until they came all over her back and her face and her ass – clothed, unclothed, didn't matter – were flashing through her mind like a strobe light.

And if she looked a little closer, dusted off the cobwebs and spread the curtains apart, she could find and discern the faded and spurned memories of men leaving the farm dressed and armed for war and returning days later with another truck full of more women to fuck with. To hit and bite and torture and actually _fuck_ , when they deemed the women _ready_. More women to ruin.

"Beth?"

Daryl's voice interrupted the uncontrollable and nightmarish visions propagating inside her mind. And she wished, so badly, so irrationally, that he could do more than interrupt. She wished he could split her head open and wipe her clean, make her whole and good and untainted.

"Sorry," she said, squeezing her eyes shut for moment as she sucked in a deep breath before forcibly exhaling any remnants of her anxiety as best she could.

He moved closer to her and she put a hand on his solid chest.

"How do you feel?" She whispered, knowing – and knowing that he knew it, too – that she'd never answered his question. Not with her mouth, at least. Not with her voice.

"Like a wild rabbit," he responded, voice raspy and thoughtful. And she didn't quite understand.

He held her gaze for a moment before half-turning his head toward the ceiling again.

"'Fore I hunted 'em, I used to try and catch 'em. To keep as pets." He explained. Keeping his eyes on the ceiling, he brought a hand up and began tracing small circles on her face with his fingertips, smoothing out and pinching and twirling the strands of hair between his fingers absentmindedly as he spoke.

"Never got close enough 'til it was winter. Shitty weather. Snowed a lot, one year. Parents were drunk an' fightin', told me to go play outside. Merle was gone. I was eatin' a stalk of celery, sittin' on the porch. Prob'ly cryin' or some shit. Little rabbit come right up to me. 'Bout scared him away, when I reached down to pet him. But when I set the celery on my lap, he climbed right up on top of me, chewin' away. Let me hold him. Kept him in my room all winter."

His hand had dipped lower as he spoke, rubbing down her neck with mechanical purposelessness as the calloused tips of his fingers traced the depressions of her skin around her throat and the ridges of the sinewy muscles and pliant vessels there.

"When spring come along, he went crazy. Chewed shit up. Shit all over the house. Wouldn't let me hold him no more. Had to let him go, 'fore my pa killed him. An' when I did, he looked just as happy outside. Made me sad. Then. Cried, prob'ly, missin' him. But now – well, I'd say I 'bout understand that rabbit more'n I do most people now."

He turned his head back to Beth's and wrapped his hand around the side of her neck then, pulling her face closer to his.

He pressed a kiss to one corner of her mouth and then the other.

And she almost thought about it. Right then, as she soaked herself in his words, letting them run through her and energize her and enlighten her. She thought about it. About telling him the truth. About telling him what she'd been thinking, like he'd asked. About telling him that, if she found out that these people had known about the farm and hadn't _done_ anything or _tried_ to do anything or at least _said_ something or _felt_ something, then she'd fucking kill them all.

But it was winter. Right now, it was winter. And the thought of the child version of Daryl, heart broken and eyes wet with tears because of the wild bunny who'd rather be outside, was now in her mind. And it was like a goddamned prophecy.

So, instead, she smiled and guided his mouth to hers with the hand she'd placed on his face. She felt his tongue lazily enter her mouth and lick along her own.

She murmured into his mouth that she felt like a wild rabbit, too. One that'd been through hell and was in need of a respite, but moreso simply needed him. And people who _said_ they were good to actually _be good_.

She buried it deep down inside, all the things she _almost_ wanted to say. Her kiss became more forceful, filled with a desperation that was fueled by too many sources to count or name. And she pushed him onto his back roughly and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips.

And it wasn't any one feeling that she could pinpoint that was driving her. It was anxiety and isolation and desire and fear and hurt and need – for him, like this, and to tell him. She didn't quite _want_ to, she didn't think so, anyway, but she _needed_.

She felt a stinging behind her eyes and a tense and aching and invisible density curling deep in her belly and she let out a frustrated sound into his mouth because she wanted to crawl inside her own stupid, fucked up brain and remind it, _command_ it, that _no, she didn't need to do anything except eat and sleep and drink and survive_.

So she resisted it in the only way she knew how. She yanked Daryl's shirt up, exposing his torso, and ducked her head down and kissed and licked and bit at his skin, working breathless murmurs and moans from him. She licked and kissed her way back to his mouth and tried to channel the frustration through her saliva so it could mix with his and he'd swallow it and digest it and just _know_.

And, for a while, it worked. Her brain emptied out like the flush of a toilet and when it filled back up, the water was new and clean and filled with Daryl and his mouth and his tongue and his harsh breaths and hot words.

"Want you," he murmured when she dipped her head to the side to kiss and lick along his throat, and she felt the vibration of his voice there, and the feeling of it - combined with his two simple, barely audible words - made her throb all over, as though she were just one big bundle of nerves and fibers and electricity and he could stimulate her – all of her – with a word, with a touch, with a look.

She hoisted herself up – wordlessly and soundlessly – and undid her jeans, quickly doffing them and tossing them to the side.

She undid his then and helped him wriggle out of them from where she remained, on top of him.

And they were both in their underwear – for some reason, she'd left them on – and she climbed back on top of him.

He groaned, soft and low, when she slid down his body far enough to position her center right over him. And she could feel herself soaking through her already-dirty underwear and she could feel him, hard and straining against the fabric of his torn boxers. And she was all feeling and sensation and want and him. And she began grinding herself against him, spreading the wetness inside and outside of her and onto him.

"Beth, stop." His voice wasn't harsh. But it was clear. Firm. Concerned.

She snapped her eyes to his, confused, hips still mindlessly rocking a little against his.

His face was pained, eyes scanning her face, hands clasped around her forearms.

"You're crying," he said. No accusation. No questioning. Just straightforward, matter-of-fact. And she reached a hand up and felt the wetness there. And it didn't compare to the wetness in between her legs, but she hadn't cried – not like _this_ , not without even _knowing_ it or being aware enough to feebly attempt to resist it – since she'd killed Robert. And until Robert, it hadn't happened since _before_. She'd since learned to control her emotions with a fair amount of esteem, or at least she thought she had. At least _this_ emotion – or the manifestation of it.

She climbed off of him, wiping at her face. Sat down on the blanket beside him. Flushed the vision of the sad, child version of Daryl down the toilet of her mind.

It'd happen, sooner or later. She'd break. She'd probably ruin things with the Colony, ruin things for her family, ruin any chance she'd ever had at healing, if it were even possible.

And she didn't want that. She didn't want to make another decision based on emotions – emotions she claimed and actually believed she'd controlled with some kind of hardened expertise, when, really, maybe _they'd_ been controlling _her_ all along – and she didn't want her past to come back and bite her in the ass because she was too - _something_ – proud? Maybe. But more than likely, too afraid – to confront them in any way. And like the flip of a switch, she realized it was more than a need. Call it vanity, but she wanted things - even in this shit world in which she existed, with her fucked up head and scarred body - she wanted to _try_.

"I need –" she started, cutting herself off with a sharp shake of her head. "I _want_ to tell you something."

He sat up, too, then, pulling his shirt down and nodding once toward her, in encouragement, she guessed.

"When I was at – well, when I was with Robert and his group, ya know - at the farm. I remember. Some of the men, leavin'. Lots of weapons with 'em. They'd come back with – well, all kinds'a things, really. Food. Ammo. Firewood. _Girls_." Her voice was shaking, tongue fumbling when trying to form the words, breath inadequate when she tried to speak them.

Daryl's face remained neutral as he listened to Beth reveal a small but real piece of her _before_. But something in his body – in his posture or the energy radiating from him – was begging for her to continue.

"And I think these people – the Colonists – maybe they _know_. What's goin' on there. Aaron said they told him they knew. 'Bout them. And had ways o' _dealing_ with them. And – and earlier, Gregory said they trade – _things_ – for protection." Beth tried to relax her body – her shoulders and vocal cords and throat – so that she wouldn't come across as definitively confrontational or accusatory. She knew Daryl wanted this to work. And she did, too. And that's why she was telling him.

Daryl rubbed along his jaw with the side of his index finger, thumb tracing his lower lip, as he took in what Beth was suggesting. Implying, maybe. And her eyes were dancing – fixating on the ceiling and the wall and the floor and her fingers and her bare, scarred legs.

"Think they're tradin' women for shit?" He finally asked.

Beth shrugged. "I'unno. Maybe not. Doesn't sound like it's the _only_ group they're tradin' with. Don't know much yet, just a feeling. But when Gregory said that there was a _rule_ , or whatever. Against questionin' them about their business? Made me think they might know. And they ain't doin' anythin' 'bout it. And while I was trapped there, gettin' – " she stopped herself, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, not quite ready or willing to go _there_. Not yet, anyway. Not now.

"And while I was trapped there, they just turned the other way. 'Cause of the trade. 'Cause of the _rule_. Yet they claim to know the good and the bad."

Daryl sat there in silence for several minutes before nodding in a way that appeared to be mostly to himself. Deciding something, maybe. Beth lowered her head, tracing the marks on the skin of her thighs. Hoped he wouldn't think she was just searching for something wrong with this place. Hoped he wouldn't think that she wanted to storm the Hall and start stabbing people with the steak knife that she'd covered with her discarded jeans. That wasn't what she wanted.

He leaned forward suddenly and grasped her jaw and gently tilted her head upwards toward his.

"Ain't nothin' gonna happen to you. Ya know that, right?" His voice was low and, on the surface, it was tender. But underneath the words she could feel a warning. Devotion. A promise. And she wasn't worried about _that_ , anyway.

She nodded without hesitation.

"And whatever we gotta do, Beth. Whatever you wanna do. We'll figure it out. We just – we need to lay low a while. Get on with everythin' here, everyone. See what we find out, maybe. Then we can decide how to go 'bout it. I can talk to Rick-"

"No." She cut him off with a firm voice. "This is between us. Only. Please. I'm the only one that knows what went on there. Didn't tell nobody the specifics. Just you. No need to involve anybody else. Not right now."

"A'right," he said. And only tenderness was there, then, in his voice.

He eased himself down onto his back, cutting off the dying glow of the lantern and leaving only the soft and dusty splotches of the moon that breached the uneven and weathered blinds.

He pulled lazily at the hem of her shirt and she took the hint and removed it, positioning herself in side-lying with her chest flush against his side.

Daryl wrapped an arm around her, drawing her in closer so she could rest her head in the nook between his shoulder and neck and spread the blanket over her with his other hand.

She could hear him blinking and maybe grinding his teeth. Could feel the tension in the muscles of his torso, across which she'd flung an arm. He was thinking about it, what she'd said. Maybe angry about it.

But she didn't feel guilty for telling him. She didn't feel _great_ about it, either. And there was so much more to tell, if and when she decided to tell it. She felt some sense of relief, like a few pounds of the weight she carried around in her head and on her shoulders had been lifted. Not that she wanted _him_ to have to carry it around.

But they could share it, she thought. And work through it. Because he gave a shit. Because he loved her.

And that thought - that truth - it was shapeless and dark but light and steady, like him, and it circled around in the lobes of her brain - damaged or otherwise - and filled her insides with something colorful and weightless, even the hollowed caverns of her, the ones that were missing parts and pieces and were sharp instead of rounded, cold instead of warm. And it made her feel like she could be whole again. That this could fill her up. And she knew, then. Not that she hadn't before, but she _knew_ with a type of certainty that was as sharp as glass and as real as death and as reliable as the blood in her veins.

"I do, too, you know." She whispered then, responding aloud to the conversation in her mind.

She felt his head duck down toward hers and his lips brushed lightly over her forehead. Over the scars. The arm he'd wrapped around her came to the side of her head, clumsily moving the strands of hair that were stuck to her face.

"Hm?" He murmured, and his voice sounded sleepy.

She was drifting, too; but with her last, albeit forced, filament of consciousness, she reached for the words of truth that she didn't just _need_ to say and whispered: "I love you, too."

 **Author's Note, Part 2:**

Okay, here's the most common issue people have had regarding this particular chapter. So I'm curious to know what you think. I'm all up for discussion and appreciate various opinions, whether or not I agree with them.

Example (not verbatim) from a private (AND NOT NICE!) message: "you're writing daryl totally wrong. he is so out of character. the minute beth told him about even the possibility of the colony trading women for supplies, he would have left with her."

I understand that POV. Well, really, I don't, because since when has Daryl been so quick to leave everyone? But I can appreciate it because Daryl is protective, we know this. But here's why I _don't_ think his actions are OOC, not in _this story_ , and really not even if something like this happened in the show.

Beth just revealed something to him. Something that he knows she's revealed to no one else. She's trusting him with the information. And I think - while I agree that he would literally do anything to protect her, even if it pisses her off - that, at this point, the fragility of Beth and her willingness to tell him even this _tiny_ thing (if we look at the bigger picture) is much more important to him than bum-rushing the colonists or waking everyone up and telling them "WE HAVE TO LEAVE AT THIS EXACT MOMENT, BECAUSE THERE'S A POSSIBILITY THAT THESE PEOPLE ARE DOING BAD THINGS, BUT WE DON'T EVEN KNOW THAT."

I think he's processing what she's said while appreciating that she's letting herself open up, just this little bit. Beth asked him to keep it between them for the moment, which I also think is realistic, because she doesn't want to ruin things - doesn't want to alarm her family when she doesn't even know (nor do WE as the readers) at this point if the ideas/theories she's entertaining have any legitimacy whatsoever. She's not just thinking about herself. And Daryl wouldn't do that either. He's not going to forget about it, but I think they both have enough tact and trust between them that they could share something like this between themselves, for the moment at least.

Anyway, would love to hear what you think.


	17. double cross the vacant and the bored

_**A/N: Chapter 17 is here! Sorry for the delay - I got a little distracted for a day or two (which resulted in another [SMUTTY - be warned] Bethyl one shot, the killer in me is the killer in you, which I wrote as an alternate scene/inferred dream sequence in the prevaricate universe, which would actually coincide with the events of this chapter - so if you haven't read it and you're interested, it's posted here on ff net as well as ao3). **_

_**There's a lot going on here. We're going a little plot-heavy, with good reason. The group decide whether or not to stay at the Colony. Maggie and Beth have another confrontation. Beth reveals a little more of her past, and it's a good thing she's starting to feel comfortable opening up a little, because by the end of the chapter she may need to confront it - or parts of it - in some form.**_

 _ **Please review! Let me know what you think. Your reviews are the ultimate form of encouragement from me, and I appreciate anyone who is out there still reading this. We've still got quite a ways to go, and from my half-assed outline, I'm guessing we may end up around ~30 chapters total.**_

 _ **xx**_

 **chapter 17: double cross the vacant and the bored  
**

Beth was awoken the next morning – the first morning in the Colony – by the repetitive knocking – no, _pounding_ – at the door. Of their home. Or shelter. Whatever it was.

She blinked a few times, trying to clear the fog of sleep from her head and her vision. It took her a moment to remember where she was.

But then she felt Daryl's rough hands on her, using her body for leverage to struggle to his feet. And she remembered everything. That she told him what she'd been thinking about. That she'd revealed some part of what'd happened before she made her way back to him and the rest of their family. That she told him she loved him.

"Yeah, Jesus fuckin' Christ, I'm comin'," he grumbled. Beth smiled a little at the scowl on his face, at the way he shook his head a few times in irritation and ran a hand through his dirty, long hair before looking down at her.

He picked one of the blankets up off of the floor and tossed it at her. And she remembered then that she was still shirtless and pantless. She was comfortable, though, and she burrowed her head into the pillow, which she now realized smelled faintly like mildew and grease, and wrapped the blankets around her from head to feet.

A soft stream of light warmed the side of Beth's face as Daryl cracked the door open behind her.

"Daryl. Sorry for wakin' ya up." She heard the hushed voice of Eric.

"What is it?" Daryl asked. There was no indication of any concern in his voice, so Beth let her eyes drift shut.

The muffled sound of their voices must've lulled her back to sleep, because the next time she opened her eyes, Daryl's face was right in front of hers.

"Jesus," she said, jerking her head back slightly. "Ain't the way to wake someone up, Daryl."

He was crouched down and a good half of his upper face was obscured by his hair. But Beth thought she maybe saw him smirk, just a little.

"I'll try an' do better next time," he said, eyes lowering to the floor beneath them.

"What're ya doin'? Is everyone meetin' up out there?" She asked, pulling herself up into a sitting position. The blankets in which she'd been cocooned slid off of her shoulders and chest, bunching up in her lap.

"Soon," he replied, eyes lifting to her shoulders and her chest and her horrible excuse for a bra - which she should probably have felt embarrassed about but, really, she didn't give a shit - before quickly shifting to meet her own eyes, and he looked at her as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. And it made her want to strip naked and stand directly in front of him and tell him that she liked it. The way he looked at her. And that it was okay.

She yawned and stretched her arms over her head, waiting him out. He'd been all up in her face for _something_ , she assumed. Maybe he wanted to talk about last night, about what she'd said – and there were many things from which to choose on that front. But she wasn't going to pry it out of him.

He bit the insides of his cheeks, still staring at her, and she just stared right back. For several silent minutes.

And she was about to give in and say _"what the fuck is it, Daryl?"_ when he tossed something lightly into her lap.

She looked down and saw a small plastic bottle half-filled with a blue-ish substance. No label, just a white twist-top. She picked it up, rolling the weight of it around in her hands.

"Eric brought it. Said it smells like flowers or some shit." She looked up and he was biting at the skin around his thumbnail, rubbing a finger along his scruffy jaw, now staring at the bottle in her hands.

"Thank you," she whispered as she unscrewed the cap and sniffed. And it _did_ smell like flowers - or some shit.

"'S nothin'. Ain't from me."

Beth stood up then and was surprised that she wasn't immediately frozen, especially since she was only wearing undergarments. The sun was still somewhat warm during the days and the walls of the house provided some decent heat. And, if she was going to shower, now was the time. Because she wasn't sure what the rest of the day would bring. Where they'd be by the end of the night.

Xxx

Beth was standing in the small bathroom, sifting through the cabinet under the sink, inside of which she'd eventually found some towels. Wasn't entirely sure that they were clean, but that didn't matter much.

Daryl had twitched a little and told her to "go 'head, take yours first," when she'd casually asked him to join her in the shower – for the body heat, of course. Mainly. And she wasn't sure from where her brazenness had come, but she found that she almost liked the way it made him squirm, even after he'd touched and kissed most every part of her.

So she turned on the faucet and pulled the shower curtain – which was filled with holes and rips and cuts and wasn't exactly or securely fastened to the tension rod above – closed. Stripped off her bra and underwear and stepped over the side of the back of the tub, keeping her body out of the inconsistent streams of water rushing out of the rusted showerhead.

She took a deep breath and held it inside her lungs and the cavity of her chest and practically flung herself into the water.

And _fuck_. It was cold. But it was refreshing. Cleansing.

Once her body got used to the temperature, it was almost tolerable, really. So she let her head hang in the stream and watched the droplets cascade from the long and knotted strands of her hair like some kind of post-apocalyptic waterfall.

And as she stood there, her mind replayed the conversation she'd had with Daryl the previous night. And she must've got lost somewhere along the way between the fear and loathing and love of it all – because she soon heard a light knocking on the bathroom door.

"Sorry, 'bout done," she said, squeezing some of the blue shampoo – or body wash or whatever the hell it was – into the palm of her hand. She quickly lathered her hair and body and rinsed off. Her hair was so matted and full of knots and fucking _despondent_ that she was practically pulling it out by the handful when she tried to untangle it.

She turned the water off and grabbed the towel, drying her hair with it quickly and then wrapping it around her body.

As she reached her hand out for the doorknob, she chanced a glance in the mirror. Wasn't sure why, since she hated mirrors. Since before. But even moreso since the dream she'd had, back when she and Daryl and Ben had been in the woods. Since she'd watched herself – the girl she _used to be_ – cut and slice and stab herself until she became the girl she was _now_ , all through the reflective glass of a shattered mirror of a shattered soul.

All she saw now was a tangled mess of hair and skin that was far too pale – almost ashen or greyed, really – and big eyes that were still blue and still hers but had seen so much more than they were ever meant to. Scars – too many to count. Mistakes. Pain. Fear.

She tore her eyes away from the mirror, not caring to look any further. She pulled the bathroom door open.

"All yours," she said quietly to Daryl, who was lingering nearby. And his expression was one that she couldn't quite decipher. And she wasn't sure what kind of look was on her own face, but he looked as though he'd somehow just watched her as she'd assessed herself in the mirror minutes earlier. Like he didn't agree with her perception. Like he wanted to _yell_ but softly say that she was _wrong_. That he would follow her to hell if she asked him to. And it made Beth's breaths quicken and her face feel hot.

They stared at each other for a few moments longer and then he finally dropped his eyes and walked past her and into the bathroom. She heard the shower turn on a few minutes later. And she thought about going in there. Continuing the silent conversation they'd just had with their eyes. Imagined helping him wash himself and him helping her re-wash herself and kissing and licking him everywhere and him doing the same to her in return. And it wasn't embarrassment that stopped her – they'd both seen and touched and kissed each other's most private and intimate parts – but just the thought that maybe Daryl wanted a few minutes to himself kept her feet planted to the ground.

Beth went back to the living area and re-dressed herself in her dirty clothes, and she realized she wouldn't be disappointed if – even if they'd all decide to leave the Colony today or tomorrow or anytime soon – they could snag some new clothes in the near future.

Daryl emerged from the bathroom moments later with just a towel wrapped around his waist. He looked so different when he was clean, despite the constant disarray of his hair and the inherent roughness that was just _Daryl_. He kept his eyes on the floor as he entered the living area, dropping his towel unceremoniously on the floor before pulling on his own pants.

He turned slightly away from Beth to pick up his shirt, and the glimmer on the slick skin of his back caused by the rays of light that shone through the windows was nothing short of mesmerizing. As soon as he pulled the shirt on, he flung his head around a little – again reminding Beth of a dog – and sighed. Almost as if it were difficult for him, being clean. She smiled.

"Look good," Beth said. "Smell nice, too."

He bit at his thumbnail again and was all of a sudden very fidgety, Beth realized, and she wondered why all of a sudden he was acting so strangely.

But before she got the chance to ask, there was another knocking at the door.

She sighed and walked over to it, smoothing out the long sleeves of the green sweater she wore.

"Hey, Beth. Gonna meet in front of Rick's in a few," Maggie said. Beth could tell that her sister had cleaned up, too. Her hair was smooth and straight and almost even shiny.

"'Kay," Beth replied. "We'll be right there."

"Ya smell good," Maggie continued, while _very-obviously_ ducking her head a bit - to try and sneak a peek into Beth and Daryl's house, Beth guessed.

"Yea, thanks. Showered. Had some soap," Beth shrugged. "See ya in a few minutes." She shut the door.

"So fuckin' nosy," she sighed, turning to face Daryl. He was smirking a little, still biting at his thumb and standing in the middle of the living room.

"So, Mr. _Silent Dixon_. You still good with keepin' my damaged-brain conspiracy theory under wraps for a while?" Beth asked. She'd wanted to actually talk about it with him some more, but it seemed that there wouldn't be time. So she at least wanted to make sure about this. That he'd not bring it up for the time being. They weren't in any imminent danger. Not that Beth felt particularly _excited_ , living among people who may've knowingly contributed – and possibly in some vile ways – to the operations of the farm. But it wasn't a proven fact at this point. She wasn't even sure if they knew what _exactly_ went on at the farm.

The bottom line was that, for right now, they needed a place to stay. All things and _possible things_ considered, the Colony and its people didn't seem outright _bad._ Beth's theories – or fears – were worth further exploration - she thought so, anyway - but they'd need to be careful about how they approached all of this. How they collected information and what they decided to do with it. And right now, she didn't want anyone else besides Daryl involved in any way. And she wasn't even sure why she wanted _him_ involved, except she'd wanted to tell him about it and she couldn't expect him to _not_ want or demand to be involved now that he knew.

He nodded. "Yeah. As long as you're still good with not doin' anythin' reckless or stupid."

"I won't," she said. And she meant it. If anything, the several days it'd taken them to travel back from Washington and then to the Colony had given her some extra time to think. And after much thought, she understood Daryl's point of view on her impulse control or – more accurately – lack thereof. And though she wasn't entirely sure she could control herself one hundred percent of the time, she'd decided that she was going to make an effort to _try_.

xxx

They all gathered around outside of Rick's home. It was still early. A few other Colonists were up and about, but it was mostly quiet throughout the village.

The difference in the morale among the group members was significant. Tangible. Everyone looked clean and well-rested. Some were even smiling. It even _felt_ different, just standing there among them. There was a lightness to it that hadn't been there before – at least not since Alexandria.

And before they even voted, Beth had been fairly certain that they'd be staying.

And that was okay. Because she and Daryl would be together. And her family was here, and they'd be safe. They'd survive. And Beth repeated that to herself over and over as she – and everyone else around her – raised a hand to vote in favor of staying at the Colony.

Once the vote was counted, Rick sought out and found Paul, who was elated to hear the news that they'd decided to stay.

"We'll be havin' a meeting tonight," the man said as he approached the group that was still assembled outside of Rick's house. "Gregory will be there. All the Colonists will be there. We try to do that when new Colonists arrive. Chance to get to know everyone, see what's on the agenda for the next couple'a days, find out how an' where ya wanna pitch in to help. Gonna need all the help we can get to get these walls done within the next couple'a weeks."

"We'll be there," Rick replied.

"Fantastic," Paul said, smile spreading widely across his face. "We have clothes – a whole room full of 'em at the Hall. Some of the ladies here sew. We can wash all your dirty clothes, too. Anythin' ya'll need. We'll get it all figured out. We got baby food an' toys an' such for the little ones. Ya'll can pick up your weapons at the meeting, too."

xxx

They had some time to kill before the meeting. Beth went over to hang out with Maggie, at her insistence, at the house in which she, Glenn, and Tara were staying. It was practically identical to Beth and Daryl's, and Beth imagined that they were all probably similar in nature.

"Want me to try an' brush them tangles out of your hair, Bethie?" Maggie asked.

Beth sat on the floor, staring at her hands. She wasn't thinking about anything in particular. She wasn't letting herself succumb to the possibly false sense of security surrounding her. An air of relaxation had spread itself over her family throughout the course of the day – one that she hadn't felt since they'd all been settled within the walls of Alexandria, despite the fact that Beth had never really actually shared that sense with her family members. But she had to admit that it felt good – it was good – to see everyone this way again.

"Don't think there's any hope left for it," Beth shrugged.

Maggie sat directly behind her, combing her fingers softly through the less-tangled ends of Beth's hair.

"Don't say that. There's always hope. For everythin'." Maggie hopped up and walked across the living room to the corner where they'd stored their packs. She sifted through the contents of one of them for a moment before producing a brush. She grinned at Beth before returning to her spot behind her on the floor, brush in hand.

"It's gonna be crazy to see so many people, all in one place," Maggie said lightly as she began raking the brush through Beth's hair.

The sound of the tangled strands being tugged by the bristles of the brush was soothing in a way to Beth. Seemed to ease some of the tension that'd been stagnant at the base of her skull for some time now.

"Wonder how they keep track of everyone. And what they all do," Beth mused aloud.

"Well, if they only take in the _good_ people, like they say, then it's prob'ly more or less an honor system. An' somethin' tells me the _three wise men_ are more observant than they look," Maggie replied, referring - Beth guessed - to Paul, Ezekiel, and Dwight.

"Guess so. Seems kind of stupid, though. Risky. Good people don't always stay good." Beth was quiet when she spoke. And she wasn't referring to anyone in particular and she wasn't about to give hard examples, but she knew the truth behind her words. Times like these changed people. Not always all at once. Not always at one fixed point in time, either. People could start good and gradually become _not_ -good and slide all the way to _bad_ over time, or they could convert from good to bad with one quick decision that they could never take back.

"Well, when ya need the numbers for – oh _fuck!_ " Maggie screeched. "Oh my _god_ , Beth!"

Beth whipped around to ask her sister _what the fuck her problem was_ when she noticed a small but steady stream of blood dripping from the brush Maggie was holding in her shaking hand. Along with a gigantic, dangling wad of the blonde hair that'd previously been attached to her scalp.

"Maggie, what the hell?! Said you were gonna brush the tangles out, not fuckin' _scalp_ me!" Beth's hand shot up to the back of her head and, yeah, there was a pretty significant raw, bald spot back there. It was low on her head, probably not far from the small depression created by the missing piece of skull caused by the bullet that'd killed her.

Maggie was looking from the brush to Beth and back again, features wide and shocked and gaping.

And, _fuck_.

"How in the hell – Beth, how did you not _feel_ me pullin' it so hard? Part of your fuckin' scalp is actually on here!."

"Well – uh, none of it really felt _pleasant,_ Maggie. How the hell am I s'posed to know the difference between the _brushin'_ and the _rippin'_?" Beth tried to even out her voice, though she was panicking a little. This was _not_ the time. She didn't want Maggie to find out like this.

"There's no way in _hell_ , Beth – no _way_ you couldn't have felt the difference. That had to've hurt like a bitch. An' you didn't even – you didn't even _flinch_. You didn't even know!" Maggie's voice was pitching higher, like she knew something was _off_ and maybe she had an _idea_ \- but Beth could see that she thought _whatever idea_ she may've formed was so impossible that the only possible solution was to state the obvious. In a shrill, glass-shattering, accusatory voice. Repeatedly, probably. And she was glad that Glenn and Tara had left earlier to give the sisters some "alone time."

"Seriously, Beth. Anybody – anybody could'a told the difference. An' you – you've got the most sensitive damn head. Always have. What the hell – I mean – you. You used to scream when I'd _barely_ touch your damn hair or when momma would – "

"I _didn't_ fucking feel it, Maggie," Beth said, voice loud, cutting off her sister.

"What do you _mean_?" Maggie asked, mouth gaping open, still holding up the brush with Beth's missing hair and tissue dangling off of the bristles.

"I _can't_." There was no point in trying to fabricate any lies. Not now. And Beth was growing tired of keeping _all_ her secrets. This one felt somehow less harmful now, in light of everything else that was going on – or _could_ be going on.

"I don't understand," Maggie said slowly, even as her eyes darted rapidly over Beth's face.

"I haven't been able to feel pain since – since I woke up. After I got shot," Beth explained. And she kept her eyes on her sister's and her expression neutral.

"Haven't been able to – I mean, _what_? How the hell did I not know about this?" Maggie threw the brush down onto the floor and Beth watched as a few of the bloodied strands of her former hair flew up into the air and across the room with the impact.

"Wasn't ever a time when it seemed appropriate to say ' _oh, hey, Maggie, by the way, did ya know I can't feel pain anymore?'_ And what's it matter, anyhow?" Beth spat. She didn't mean to sound cold, but _why_ couldn't Maggie just accept _anything_ without a fight? Without taking it personally?

Or without crying.

"Oh my god, Bethie. Is that how come you got all those scars—"

"Stop, Maggie. I don't wanna talk 'bout that. Okay? All you need to know is that I can't feel pain – not physically, anyway. It's 'cause of some – some kind of tract, or somethin'. In the brain an' spinal cord that has all the pain receptors. And the bullet must'a wiped it out somewhere along the way. That's what I got from the medical books back in Alexandria, anyway. It was more of a problem before. When I – when I didn't realize it. Things'd scratch me and cut me and I wouldn't know, till I – uh, but I know now. So I'm more careful. And that's all I can do 'bout it. And there's nothin' you can do 'bout it." Beth's voice was quieter and calmer as she elaborated more than she'd initially intended. But it wasn't as difficult as she'd thought it'd be at one time, revealing this part to her older sister.

Maggie wiped the tears from her face, nodding sadly.

"God, Beth. I'm so sorry. I mean, we need to check you. All the time. And make sure nothin' new shows up that we didn't know about and -" She leaned forward then, pulling Beth tightly into her arms.

And Beth let her. And she wrapped her own arms around her sister.

"Don't worry. I do all that. Have been for some time now. And don't be sorry. Could'a been worse." Beth released her sister gently. "Besides, if there was one sensation you could take away, don't ya think ya'd choose pain outta all the others?"

Maggie giggled though her face and voice were both still wet with tears.

Sunlight and a gust of cool air filled the room then as the door behind them opened and Beth heard the voice of her brother-in-law.

"Oh, no. What the hell did you do now, Beth?" Glenn asked, voice nervous. Beth could hear a hint of concern though his tone was mostly teasing. Mostly.

"You should be askin' your damn wife what she did to _me_ this time!" Beth said. And her voice sounded light and playful, even to her own ears. And maybe this wasn't such a bad thing.

She stood up and turned around, pointing to the spot – which she still hadn't actually seen – on the back of her head.

" _Jesus_ , Maggie! Aren't you two a little old for hair pulling?" Glenn's eyes widened.

"It was an accident!" Maggie said with a snot-filled laugh.

And none of this was _actually_ funny, but Beth couldn't help it when she felt a bubble of laughter erupt from her mouth, mostly at the sound of her sister, who'd begun half-crying, half-snorting.

"What the fuck happened?" Beth heard the harshness in Daryl's voice – he'd apparently been coming in the house behind Glenn – and she turned around to face him.

Maggie stopped laughing abruptly, as did Beth.

"She was trying to help me tame the wild hair beast," Beth said, smiling at him. "Pulled a little too hard."

Daryl came the rest of the way into the house, turning Beth away from him by the shoulders so that he could inspect her. He rubbed his fingers around the spot of damage, and they were soaked in blood when Beth turned back around to face him again.

"It's fine, Daryl," Beth whispered.

He kept his eyes locked on hers, seemed to be searching the depths of them, making sure she was _really_ fine. And the protectiveness of him, which may've once irritated her, made her heart race a little.

"Wonder what hurt more – Beth's bitch slap or Maggie's epic hair pulling?" Glenn laughed, easing a bit of the tension that'd overtaken the room with the silent exchange between Daryl and Beth.

Beth kept her eyes on Daryl's – trying to assure him without words that she was okay, physically and otherwise – but she scoffed a little at Glenn.

"Bet ya a hundred pig's feet that my slap hurt _way_ worse."

xxx

Most of the group had gone to the Hall well before the start of the meeting to sift through the various clothes and toiletries that'd been offered.

Beth was satisfied that she'd been able to find some new clothes – clean jeans, which were a little big around the waist but otherwise fit, a long-sleeved black shirt, clean underwear and a bra that fit at least somewhat better, and a thin (but better than nothing) blue coat. She'd grabbed some soap and shampoo and a few towels to take back to her and Daryl's house.

Everyone else had apparently been able to find at least a few articles and items that'd fit them. And at least they were clean. Warm.

Beth was surprised that even Daryl had found a few shirts – not much different, style- or color-wise, from the things he'd always worn – and a cleaner pair of jeans.

Most of them had gone back to their homes to change clothes or take naps and get ready for the meeting. Everything and everyone seemed even lighter as the day progressed. Beth had heard more laughter from her family members throughout the day than she'd heard since the fall of Alexandria. And she knew then that she'd been right when she decided to avoid jumping to any conclusions about this place. Not that she wasn't still planning on initiating her own personal mission – along with Daryl, of course – to investigate things a little more closely, for her own peace of mind if nothing else.

Beth and Daryl were back at their house. Beth was sitting on the floor, going through the various items she'd collected from the Hall. She thought about how, before, she may've gone and looked at the few items of jewelry, maybe would've grabbed something shiny and sparkly and pretty. She'd surpassed that area of merchandise completely, sticking to things that were necessary and functional.

Daryl had changed into a black button-down shirt with sleeves, signature leather vest still in place overlying it. And his hair still fell across his face and into his eyes, but it – as well as the rest of him – was still clean, even though he'd had a few hours to dirty himself back up had he wanted to.

He sat down on the floor beside Beth, and she could feel his eyes on the side of her face.

She turned her head a little towards him. And his eyes were smoldering but somehow icy, and he seemed to be trying to ask her questions without opening his mouth. And she wasn't certain about what he was thinking, but she figured she probably wasn't too far off.

"I told her. There was no reason to lie," she said softly, penetrating his gaze with her own.

He grunted softly, and she knew this one. It was an indication that he understood. That he didn't disagree with her assessment or decisions.

"An' ya feel okay? 'Bout it?" He asked in a quiet voice.

She shrugged. "Could'a gone without her freakin' out like that, but think that would'a happened regardless of how she found out."

He lifted his hand to the back of her head, to the spot that was now missing a chunk of hair. She'd tried to get a look at it in the mirror when they'd come back to the house, and it wasn't really all that noticeable. Not like she'd need to give herself a haircut to cover it or anything. She'd cleaned the blood up and tossed some of the other tangled strands over the spot and it was easily camouflaged.

Daryl was softly rubbing the area now. The area that surrounded it. And as his hand continued passing over the area, she realized what he was feeling. The depression left by the exit wound. And it was like he was blind and reading a novel in Braille, the meticulous way in which he continued to feel the spot.

She sucked in a breath. And she wasn't sure why, but she felt like telling him a little more. Wanted to.

"First time I noticed it – that I couldn't feel any pain. I was trackin'. In the woods. Not too long after I made it outta the trunk. I was still a little – disoriented. Or somethin'. Made a weapon outta a piece of shit tree limb, 'cause my knife was gone. Didn't have a gun or anythin'. And there were walkers everywhere. I got caught up in a small horde of 'em. My balance wasn't too great. Killed a few with the stick, others with my boot. Then a big one came up right behind me. And I was tryin' so hard to get away, 'cause it was too tall. Tripped over a rock or some shit and flattened myself right up against a tree. And somethin' happened, 'cause the walker tripped too and then he wasn't so tall and I got him."

Daryl was still rubbing her head, watching her face intently as she spoke.

"I stayed up against the tree for a few minutes, catchin' my breath. Then, when I tried to pull myself away, I was stuck. And I looked down and there was blood soakin' through my shirt, right here-" she pointed to her right flank, "and I pulled my shirt up and seen a sharp limb had pierced right the hell through my skin. Pierced in through the back and came out the front. It was superficial but it anchored me to the tree. And I thought maybe it was – I'unno – adrenaline or somethin'. Yanked myself off, got it to quit bleedin'. But I didn't feel nothin'. And it wasn't a major wound or nothin', but I thought surely I'd of felt _somethin_ '."

She looked down at her hands, remembering the confusion she'd felt when days had passed by and she didn't feel sore at all, despite the intermittent bleeding from the wound she'd incurred.

"And little things would keep happenin', little cuts and scrapes, and I wouldn't feel it. But I couldn't figure it out. Eventually came across some broken glass and I cut myself – just a little – in between my fingers. Where I _knew_ it'd hurt, 'cause I got a paper cut there one time in school and it 'bout made me piss myself, it hurt so bad. And I felt _nothin_ '. Just watched the skin split apart and the blood drip down."

Talking about it, like this, didn't make her feel any particular emotion. But another small bit of the weight constantly pressing down onto her seemed to be lifted and released along with the words she spoke.

Daryl put a hand in hers, finding the small scar in between the fingers on her right hand. He picked her hand up and pressed his lips to the spot where the fingers joined together on the palmar surface.

"You're brave, Beth. Always have been. Ya just didn't know it." He said quietly, interlocking their fingers and meeting her eyes with his.

"You made me braver," she whispered, alluding to a time that she almost wanted to let herself think about, just for a moment. "Wouldn't have made it, if ya hadn't taught me all ya did."

He averted his eyes, down to where their hands were joined.

"Feel the same way 'bout you."

She pulled him toward her, pressing her lips to his softly. Thanked some god that they got out together, that they lost each other, that they'd found each other.

xxx

"Oh my god, look at all these people!" Carl exclaimed as the group entered the Hall that evening for the meeting.

And he was right. The place was packed. Literally a hundred people, at least. All ages. All races. Talking, mingling, interacting peacefully with one another. They all looked _good_.

There was food in one of the rooms, drinks in another, children's toys and books in yet another. Music was playing from somewhere. And that didn't bother Beth as much as she thought it would've.

She grabbed some of the food – which consisted mostly of appetizers and fruit – and a drink, which was clearly alcoholic. Which wasn't wise, but she was starting to feel the itch of anxiety that she guessed was, at least in part, caused by the noise and the people. And she wanted something to take the edge off.

Daryl came up behind her, grabbing a beverage of his own.

"Uh-oh," she said teasingly, thinking – just for a brief flash of a moment – about the last time they'd been drinking together. The first time she'd had any alcohol. She didn't think on it too long, though she knew undoubtedly - somewhere deep inside - that that entire situation had only brought them closer. Had almost been like the beginning of it all. Even if they hadn't known it at the time. Even if she still wasn't sure what it _all_ meant, or what it _all_ would be.

"Ain't gonna get lit," he said, taking a geneous gulp.

"Hope not. No energy for fightin' with ya."

"Good," he nodded. "Ain't playin' no fuckin' games, neither." He smirked a little, side-eyeing her.

"Everyone, if you'd please join me in the Great Room," Gregory announced over all of the chatter and laughter. "The meeting will begin shortly!"

The Great Room was large enough to fit the entirety of the Colonists and then some. Beth and her family kept to themselves in one corner of the room while the others – many of whom appeared to be acquainted with one another – found chairs and sofas and spots on the floor to sit.

"Welcome, Colonists," Gregory said. He was sitting in his large, cushioned chair – the same one upon which he'd sat when he'd met with Beth and her group the previous day. And he lit a cigar, just like he had then.

"First order o' business is the welcomin' of our new arrivals." He pointed a finger in the direction of the group. "They are good people. Been on the road for some time now. Please be welcomin' to them, help 'em figure things out 'round here when we're not able to." Dwight, Ezekiel, and Paul stood behind the man, as if they were his bodyguards. Heirs to his throne, maybe.

Gregory waved a hand at the group.

"Please, come up. Let all the Colonists see your faces. Wanna make sure ya'll are familiar to everyone."

After exchanging glances among one another, the group walked up to the front of the room. Beth didn't really see the point, but she guessed it probably had something to do with the walls not being completely finished and people constantly keeping watch, on the lookout for outsiders or intruders or _bad_ people. And maybe Gregory simply wanted to establish to everyone that they were _good_ people.

They stood up, clustered together, behind the chair in which Gregory remained sitting. Beth scanned the room. There were people of all ages – much more children than she'd imagined, even a few who looked to be around Judith's age.

Gregory was talking about the philosophy of the Colony, how it'd continue with the new arrivals, how this was all symbolic that the world was becoming a _better_ place, because of all the _good people_ they'd managed to bring together.

And Beth had zoned out a little, but then she saw something out of the corner of an eye that caught her attention. Something that she'd pushed back so far into the abscesses of her mind that she just _knew_ she either had to be hallucinating or drunk off of the half-glass of alcohol or both.

She faced it directly, squinting her eyes and blinking a few times. And it was still there.

Back of the room, toward one of the doors. The unmistakable shape of a horseshoe. Messy and non-linear and discolored - marked by a struggle. A scar on the upper back of a woman who was standing in the back of the room, facing away from the stage area. A marking Beth had seen so many times. One she'd almost had branded onto her own body.

And to someone else, it may've just looked like a tattoo gone a little wrong - like an ill-advised decision the woman had made before the world ended.

The woman half-turned toward the front of the room and, before she even knew for sure it was actually there, Beth recognized the dark, raised scar that extended from the woman's deltoid to her wrist.

Gregory was still talking. People were cheering. Many of her own people were smiling and laughing and talking. Beth's mind was still absorbing everything going on around her. But she wasn't participating.

Beth kept her eyes trained on the woman. Felt her pulse spike – probably an eternal, conditioned response to anything that reminded of her then. Of them. And she wasn't sure if what she was feeling was anticipation or apprehension or curiosity or fear or all of that, all at once. Stabbing her in the face like a thousand pointless, painless needles.

And as she let her eyes wander over the woman – the woman that she _knew,_ even if her name was too far out of Beth's reach of comprehension for the moment – she felt the bile rise up in her throat, suddenly and uncontrollably.

The woman's body was partially obscured by the heads of the people in the crowd, but there was no mistaking the subtle, silhouetted shape of her. And then it wasn't just bile rising up in Beth's throat – or maybe it was just bile, but it was laced and cut hard with anger, fear, guilt, shame, sorrow, and so much pain – pain that she'd have sworn she could _feel,_ physically, like razorblades dancing in her throat – and she wanted to cry and scream and apologize and fall onto the floor or let a walker bite her just so it would all stop coming at her like a fucking riptide.

Maybe she wasn't any better than any of those motherfuckers on the farm or any of the motherfuckers here in the Colony who maybe knew what was going on there. Because she _did_ know. She lived it. She left it.

And now. This girl – this girl that Beth knew – this girl that had Beth _left behind_ – was pregnant.

Beth tried to call out, to lift her arms and wave them around and capture the woman's attention somehow. But neither her voice nor any of her muscles would work. And it was like an anvil had landed on her chest – except she was upright and standing – but she was stuck. Frozen in the moment, though the voices and cheering and sounds of life around her didn't cease – she was fixed, simply and somehow existing as the world kept moving around her. She tried to drag in a breath, but her trachea and diaphragm and rib cage were paralyzed – no air was moving in or out though she wasn't actively nor intentionally holding her breath. And her thoughts became muddled, a mixture of visions and sounds and tastes and men branding women with the ignited shoes of horses and the screams of women being raped and beaten and the sound of baby Judith's soft cries and Maggie's laughter and Daryl's quiet voice saying _"I love you, Beth,"_ over and over and over.

And soon, her vision went black and the world transformed into a more comfortable place – dark and quiet and warm.


	18. slow spinning redemption

_**A/N: I am sort of doubtful that there is anyone still out there reading this – but I have never quit at anything and this story – my very first published fanfiction, my poor neglected baby – will NOT be the exception. No excuse or reason can justify the gap in this thing, but all I can say is that I've found some inspiration and I'm running with it – even if I'm telling this mofo to the black abyss of the internet, I. WILL. FINISH. IT.**_

 _ **Anyway, lots of plot to catch up on. But, as with the rest of this story, the pacing is slow-ish. Laying the subtle foundations for the next part of this story, which will carry it into its inevitable end.**_

 _ **xx**_

 **chapter 18: slow spinning redemption**

The quiet warmth of the darkness into which she'd fallen simultaneously seemed to stretch on for an immeasurable period of listless time and end sharply, abruptly even – there was no comfort there, in the way that she suddenly regained a version of consciousness; one that somehow and suddenly made her feel like she'd be content only if she got up and ran until she couldn't.

But she couldn't.

It was quiet, wherever she was. Cold but textured. Filled with slow breaths and smoke and unvoiced anxiety.

She opened her eyes, and that familiar pressure was there behind them – and it pulsed harshly, creating spots of light that grew and shrunk erratically in her vision. But he was sitting nearby, and his eyes were glued to her – their only movements served to scan her up and down, left and right, inside and out.

She met the steel blue of them then. Let the images of the most recent of her past pass languidly through the lobes of her brain. And that slideshow of horror and regret and remorse caused her to squeeze them tightly shut.

"Y'okay?"

She kept her eyes shut but somehow knew he'd moved closer to her. They were in their house. She must've fainted, she guessed, when she'd seen her. It.

She opened her eyes slowly, as if opening them too quickly would cause her to lose consciousness again. Or force her to watch a slow-motion version of the things she'd seen and done on an endless loop projected onto some screen that no longer existed in this world.

She exhaled slowly and sat up from the supine position in which she'd awoken and the transition caused the blankets – the ones that'd been keeping her inside of that quasi state of warmth – to pool around her hips.

Her head was swimming a little, but she kept her breaths slow until she felt okay. Until she felt like she could talk – maybe not _tell_ , but talk. Something.

She watched as he crossed the room and tossed the butt of the cigarette he'd been smoking out the window's small opening. The blinds were drawn. Door was shut. He was shielding her. Protecting her. From what she'd seen, how she'd reacted, the questions he'd known she'd never be completely willing to address. For how long?

"No," she whispered.

He nodded and cast his head downward. He approached her cautiously; avoided her eyes and her face and her breaths as he eased himself down into a sitting position several feet away from where she sat.

"Saw – saw somethin'. Back there, in the Great Room. Someone." Her voice was shaking and she couldn't fucking stand it. She wanted to patch the trembles with steel and iron.

Daryl's eyes lifted to hers. She studied them, and she wasn't sure why or what she was looking for – there was no imploring or clear curiosity or urging or glimmers of encouragement in them. They were just doors. Ajar. Not warm or cold.

Beth cleared her throat and forced her eyes from his. Because she could force her damaged brain to write a damn romance novel just based on what she saw – what she _felt_ \- in them and in the way he looked at her at that very distinct moment in time.

"Girl was standin' way in the back. Saw her when we were all on that stage – whatever it was. Had a – had – I recognized her, Daryl. From the farm."

His eyes appeared to flare and narrow simultaneously. But he remained silent, regarding her with a silent solidity that she felt in the flow of her blood.

"She's pregnant." Her voice was flat and controlled as she spoke those words.

They were silent for several moments.

"We – she and I – when we were at the farm, we'd tried to plan on escapin' together. We shared a – a place, for a li'l while. Holly – " she swallowed hard, uncertain in that moment whether or not to be satisfied that she'd remembered the woman's name. She hadn't thought of her much. Not because she didn't wonder – somewhere, deep down in the core of who she was and who she used to be – what'd happened to her. Just because she hadn't thought of _any_ of it, much as she'd been able.

"When the day came and I got out, I – I didn't wait for her. I didn't go back for her. Don't know that I ever would'a, 'less I went back for 'em all." She looked down at her hands. Her hands that'd dug and scraped and clawed and fought with a kind of power that she could barely reconcile had come from inside of her.

"And now – now she's pregnant. She's got – I saw it – they got her branded. Marked. Horseshoe. Wanted to mark us all. And I just – just left her there. And now she's here. _Here_."

Daryl was a silent wall beside her now; she wasn't looking at him, but she could feel him as much as she could feel the jagged edges of her uneven nails.

He put a hand in between hers, there in her lap. Clumsily.

"Know what you're doin', Beth. Ain't no point in it. She ain't dead."

"Ain't she?" She snapped her head up, shifting her eyes to his face.

"She. Ain't. Dead." He repeated the words slowly, punctuating each one with a slight squeeze of his hand around one of her fingers.

Beth snorted. "Might as well be. Met anyone who lived through givin' birth lately?"

"There's kids here. We don't know what all kinds o' people're here. That ain't what we should be focusin' on anyhow. Don't even know if she got knocked up here or there. But she's _here_."

"Yeah. And she used to be _there_. Just a question of how, I guess. She got out, maybe. Made her way here. Or maybe somethin' else," Beth's voice tapered as she voiced her doubts and fears and hopes aloud.

"What d'ya wanna do, Beth?" Daryl lifted his hand, cupping her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

" _Do?_ I don't fuckin' know. I wanna hunt. I wanna sleep. I wanna corner Gregory and ask him to tell the damn truth 'bout this place and the farm."

Daryl shook his head, snatched his hand from her face and brought a thumb to his mouth.

"I know. Ain't gonna do that last thing I said. But I wanna find Holly. If somethin' fucked up's goin' on, she'll talk to me, Daryl. And if it's all just some twisted version of fate or coincidence or luck then – well, then, fine. But if she gives me any kind of clue that there's somethin' else – somethin' _wrong_ goin' on here – "

"Done told ya – whatever ya wanna do, all I ask is that ya let me help. Don't be runnin' off." He brought his hand back to her face and traced small circles on the surface of the skin of her lower cheek.

"I will," she murmured, cupping his hand with one of her own. She peeked over his shoulder as he moved closer to her still.

"Still night – how long was I out?"

"Long 'nough. Scooped your ass up off o' the floor an' 'bout had to choke slam your damn sister to get her to stay at the Hall. Told 'em you'd been feelin' faint an' not eatin' 'nough, which pro'ly ain't even much of a lie. Pro'ly best to expect her over here at the ass crack o' dawn to check on ya, though."

"Thank you," she whispered, because she suddenly felt overcome with the volume of his words. Of his actions. Of his words about his actions and everything that each of those and both of those represented.

"'S nothin'," he shrugged, positioning himself in a side-lying position with his elbow on the floor, head propped on one hand.

"'S not _nothin'_ ," she replied quickly, rolling her eyes while assuming a position that mirrored his.

"Know none o' that's your fault, don't ya? Ya did what ya had to, Beth. I'unno the half of it. Don't need to, neither. Just know that ya did exactly what ya had to. Ya survived. Ya got outta there. Came back to me."

His voice was quiet. And maybe this thing he'd said and other things he'd said were just recycled versions of the same shit he'd said to her before, repeatedly, continuously. But the weight of them – it impaled her, took up shelter in the pit of her stomach and the depths of her chest.

She inhaled a shaky breath – and maybe it was the same air that he'd exhaled. It was sweet and bitter and made of thanklessness and the most profound gratitude she could ever imagine and the aftertaste was reminiscent of remorse and satisfaction.

"Can't go back," he added gently. "Just goin' forward. Just survivin'. 'S all."

"At what cost?"

The question wasn't exactly meant for him or anyone, and he didn't offer any answer in return. He just silently straightened the arm that'd been supporting his head and pulled at hers so that she would follow. He rolled his body close to hers and pressed a firm kiss to her forehead and then to each of her eyes and, finally, to her lips.

"Love you, girl," he mumbled into her hair.

And she smiled into the skin of his neck and let herself feel safe for the moment. For the night.

Xxx

"'Kay, Mags. Thanks for the breakfast. See ya 'round dinner time."

Beth shut the door of her sister and brother-in-law's house behind her as she negotiated the steps to the earth below. Daryl hadn't been wrong when he'd predicted Maggie's presence at the _ass crack of dawn_ that morning. Beth had agreed to eat breakfast at the Rhees' and, by the time she'd left, Maggie was convinced that her younger sister had just not been paying enough attention to her daily intake of food and fluids.

Daryl met Beth a few yards away from Maggie's house; it was barely dawn. But he looked alert. Prepared.

"Goin' somewhere?" She asked as they walked through the small path dividing the patches of homes in which the rest of their family members were apparently still sleeping.

"Yeah," he rasped, biting noisily into an apple. "Gonna go see 'bout workin' on these walls. Or somethin'."

"Was thinkin' the same," she said, increasing her pace to match his. "Maybe not the walls, but – maybe seein' what I could do. What I can hear, too. Keep your eyes peeled for Holly. Ya see her, come and find me."

"Same here. Can come with me, if ya want," he managed around his crunchy bites.

Beth smiled and reached for the apple in his hands, snatching it quickly and taking a bite before he could do much more than flinch.

"Might be smarter if we split up. People might be more willin' to talk to us if we're each alone, y'know?"

He nodded, snatching the apple back from Beth's grasp.

"Pro'ly right. Do me a favor an' stay inside o' these half-assed walls, girl. No goin' rogue," he lowered his voice and stopped walking, turning towards her slightly. And she couldn't stop the flushing heat that she felt creeping up the sides of her neck when she studied the way the early-morning sun reflected off of the natural oils of the skin of his tanned face.

"What?" he asked, wiping his apple-drenched hands on his thighs.

"What?" she echoed, looking down. And the shy game was weak and stupid and pointless and it irritated but delighted her.

"Lookin' at me funny," he said simply, licking the residue from the apple from his lips.

"Not laughin' much, are ya?" she quipped quietly, and the words didn't contain the bite she'd imagined before she'd spoken them. She stepped closer to him and raised herself onto her toes, positioning her mouth close to his ear so that she could whisper.

"I love you."

Xxx

The grounds of the Colony were quiet for a long time as Beth and Daryl parted ways. She watched him peripherally as he approached a group of three or four early birds out by one section of the walls before she walked slowly in the other direction, soaking in the complexity of the simplicity of this environment. She didn't expect to find Holly any time in the near future, and, were she being honest, she'd all but pushed those particular thoughts into the back of her mind.

She saw the seated, silhouetted figure of one of the men – Paul, she thought – who'd led her and her family to the Colony at the east base of the large hill on top of which the Hall was proudly perched. He was facing the rising sun and she thought she heard a faint, melodic humming – and she was sure it was him, that he was actually humming, but the sound of it almost seemed to surround him like an invisible aura.

Without much thought, she'd begun to turn around and head back in the direction from which she'd come when she heard his voice break free and carry over the sounds of his humming.

"Good morning, ma'am." His voice was loud but soft; demanding but gentle. And she spun her body back around so that she was facing him.

"Hi," she said simply, stepping closer to where he remained sitting in the weathered grass covering the earth. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were – that you were there."

"No need for apologies. Seems silly, meditating in this world. But it's the one thing that I haven't stopped doing." He stood and adjusted the gray wool cap covering the crown of his head.

"Paul," he said, smiling brightly and sticking a hand out toward Beth. And, again, she noticed that his eyes were big and engaging and somehow kind.

"Beth." She took his hand briefly and shook it. And it seemed odd, that simple action. She wasn't sure she remembered the last time she'd engaged in that sort of greeting.

"Hope you're feeling better. Saw that nasty fainting spell that took you down last evening," he crossed his arms over his chest and he hadn't stopped smiling.

"Oh – um – yeah. Sorry. About – that. Hope I didn't – uh, embarrass anyone. Think all the travelin' and not eatin' or drinkin' regularly finally caught up to me."

Paul laughed quietly, shaking his head in a dismissive way. Another gesture that almost seemed foreign to her. Foreign and distant and strange but not exactly uncomfortable.

"Not at all, Beth. We were simply concerned. But your mate took care of you, it seems."

She felt her face growing hot at the label the man had given Daryl. _Mate_. She almost choked or laughed or something.

"You're lucky that you found someone. Not all of us are so lucky. Would you like to come with me? I can show you around the grounds a bit."

Beth nodded and walked alongside the man, who stopped every few steps to point out various structures or starts of structures along the walls to explain the purposes of them to Beth; the eventual _lookout tower_ , the _reinforced gates_ , the _garden area_.

"Thing I found most appealin' is that the whole basis of this place is the whole basis of everything we know – everything we _knew_ before. People. Labor. Sharing. Hunting and gathering and living off of the land until we can build more, if we want to. Trading goods with our fellow people – creating communities and divisions of labor."

Beth nodded as he spoke, remaining silent despite the electric shock that ran up her spine and into the base of her skull with his mention of _trading_.

"So what's your job, exactly?" she asked as the two slowed to a leisurely pace. "If ya don't mind my askin'."

"I'm a jack-of-all-trades, I guess you could say. Obviously, I do some recruitin'. Some scoutin' – other people, other communities. Help out 'round here much as I can. Help out on trade runs – preparin' for those and makin' them happen is a full-time position all on its own, but I've never been one for downtime. Help suggest jobs for the people who come here. Help 'em find somethin' that they can find some joy in."

"Wow," Beth breathed. "Guess you're the heart and soul of this whole joint. Had some people like that – used to, anyhow, in our group, too."

"You interested in anythin' in particular, Beth?"

Without hesitation, she nodded.

"I'm real interested in helpin' out with the whole – oh, what did ya call it - _trade ring_? Yeah, the trade ring. From the start, I've been interested in it, really. I don't do so well stayin' in one place all the time. Do better gettin' out once in a while, doin' more'n just huntin'."

"Little thing like you? Huntin'?" Paul smiled widely, shaking his head in some kind of disbelief or admiration or appreciation – Beth wasn't sure. Her heart was pounding.

"I can track," she said, forcing her lips to curl into a smile – and she felt like her face might just split open with the power behind the force of it. "Kind of what I'm best at, I guess. Trackin'. Might be useful for trades, right? I'm a hard worker. Grew up on a farm. Grew up tradin' stuff at markets for my – for my family. Since I was just barely old 'nough to talk."

"I'm impressed. We don't currently have any women goin' with us on trades – and I don't get to make the final decisions for that. But I'd be more'n willing to put in a good word with Gregory for ya. Your boyfriend a tracker too?"

She nodded. "He taught me. Also has lots o' experience with tradin', makin' sure things're fair as they can possibly be."

Paul nodded and Beth didn't think she was imagining the air of enthusiasm – genuine enthusiasm – surrounding him.

"Yeah, Beth. Figured you two'd be a valuable pair – even outta all the others. Zeke agreed – soon as he saw your boyfriend with his crossbow."

"So what do I need to do?" She was fighting – hard and heavy and forcefully and internally – to slow the rate of her heart and the flow of her blood and the slight tremble in her voice.

"We gotta trade planned with a group not so far away sometime over the next week, 'fore it gets any colder. Don't do a whole hell of a lot of 'em in the dead of the winter – mostly before so we can stock up. But this group – well – Gregory's partial to 'em and their goods."

Beth swallowed the anticipation and fear and anger and adrenaline down in a nearly-audible rise and fall of her esophagus. And she was curious and hopeful and eager and afraid – but she couldn't be too much of too many or any one of those things. Not here. Not now.

"Tell ya what – let me talk to Gregory. We'll get ya'll a meeting set up with him, maybe. We'll see what he says. If he approves, we can touch base and give ya the rundown. In the meantime, anythin' else you can do 'round here is appreciated."

"Thank you," she said – and the words had almost been too serious or sincere or desperate but she had little control over them.

"No problem. I've gotta get on now, see what the big boss man's got planned. Make sure ya eat today, a'right?" He winked and walked off toward the Hall.

And she exhaled. Loudly. Fisted her hands and dug her fingernails into the skin of her own palms, because she may've just done something _good_ and worthy, and she needed to talk to Daryl – fast – before the rest of the day became another one spiraling out of her control.


	19. but still the second hand will catch us

_**a/n: gonna go ahead and say it, it's kind of a filler. but kind of not. and no matter what cliffhanger you might see me use in this or other stories, i will never fuck you over like some people that i shan't name.**_

 _ **anyway, if smut isn't your thing, uhm...you're not gonna have a whole hell of a lot to read in this one.**_

 _ **smut scene was coming (haha), always planned for this particular chapter for reasons. sorry if it sucks, my random writing hiatuses may've robbed my mediocre ability to write decent smut. but reviews are certainly helpful when it comes (haha - sorry, no i'm not a 12 year-old boy) to that.**_

 _ **xx**_

 **chapter 19: but still the second hand will catch us (like it always does)**

Several hours had passed. Beth and Daryl had spent the time having quiet conversations – silent ones, even, sometimes – and assisting with the handling and counting and sorting of the raw materials that would be used to reinforce and build the walls and a strong gate to surround and protect the Colony.

Daryl had jerked his head in a subtle nod when Beth had approached him and presented the news from her discussion with Paul earlier that morning. He hadn't appeared particularly thrilled nor worried; mostly, his face had remained neutral, but Beth felt a blooming density of something akin to pride when he'd lowered his head inconspicuously and murmured a quick _"good work, Greene"_ close to her ear.

The sun was nearly positioned in the middle of the sky by the time she heard the familiar voice of her sister calling out from somewhere behind them.

Beth turned from the pile of scrap metal and steel through which she'd been sifting and squinted through the sun's bright rays at Maggie, who was approaching the work area along with Rick, Carol, Michonne, and Glenn. Daryl crossed over from where he'd been standing on the other side of the pile of materials, moving close to Beth's side as their family members came to a stop in front of them.

"Look at ya'll, helpin' out already," Rick said, smiling first at Beth and then at Daryl. "Feel bad I slept so late. Judith slept better'n she has in weeks, though. Gotta take advantage." Beth forced an uncomfortably fake-feeling smile onto her face.

"Just checkin' shit out," Daryl said, shrugging. "Figure the sooner we get to know some o' these folks and make ourselves known, easier it'll be to blend in, make sure it's where we wanna stay."

"Well I, for one, am decided," Maggie said, smiling brightly at Glenn who returned a sheepish grin of his own.

Beth rolled her eyes and sighed – loudly, with no attempt at subtlety. She almost felt like a petulant child for a moment until Maggie scowled at her – probably seconds away from sticking her tongue out or flipping Beth off and telling her to _"sit on it and spin."_

Maggie cleared her throat and twisted her features from a scowl to a much-too-bright smile. "They got a place in the Hall, Beth. One of the women was tellin' me 'bout it. They sew and wash and make clothes. Thought we could check it out."

"No thanks," Beth blurted. She felt her neck grow warm at the several pairs of eyes looking at her after she voiced the definitive refusal. "I mean, I ain't opposed to helpin' out wherever I'm needed, but if I got somethin' like a choice then I'd rather do somethin' else. Somethin' out here. In fact, I talked to Paul this mornin' 'bout seein' if I could maybe help out on the trade run they're plannin' next week."

She hadn't exactly been meaning to share that information with the group of family members standing before her – not at that particular moment, anyway – but she and Daryl had planned on telling Rick as soon as possible. And impulsivity was a fickle thing.

"What?" Maggie asked – and Beth could tell that she was attempting to control the tone and pitch of her voice – likely for the sake of the others – but there was no concealing the tight upward inflection in the question.

"Yeah, me and Daryl – the both of us – we offered to go along, see what it's all 'bout." She shrugged.

"Gregory's got to decide," Daryl rasped, chewing on a thumb nail and shifting his weight from one leg to the other. "Gonna be meetin' with him soon as Paul talks to him. Figure we ain't gonna know shit 'bout how this place _really_ works 'til we see how they go 'bout gettin' what they got." Beth nodded as Daryl spoke, and she was glad that they'd discussed how to go about justifying their interest in becoming involved with the trades.

Rick was nodding, too, and his eyes conveyed understanding and, somewhere deep behind them, some kind of appreciation.

"Not a bad idea," he said. "We can ask some o' the others if they'd like to be involved, too. Think it's good for us to get a handle on it all. Smart. Just don't want the two of ya goin' it alone with 'em."

Carol spoke up then. "I'd be willin' to go. If they'd allow it, 'course."

"Yeah – Carol, yeah," Maggie. Much too quick a response to seem genuine. "Might even be better if you go 'stead of Beth." And Beth tasted thick copper that must've been leaking onto her tongue from the inside of her cheek, which she'd been biting and grinding and gnawing since Rick had mentioned _others_ joining in the trade ring.

"Stop," Beth snapped. Maggie flinched at the quiet harshness of Beth's voice and words, and Beth wondered when the hell she'd actually listen and just _stop_. But that was an unending line of thought. "All of you. Mostly you, Maggie – but, no. Listen. Think it's gonna look good if we get a whole _group_ of us tryin' to go on this thing, suddenly expressin' interest in it, Rick? _I_ talked to Paul. I _want_ to go. So does Daryl – we were plannin' on approachin' 'em about it. And we'll be fine. They see us together a lot, know we ain't any kind of real threat – ain't gonna think nothin' of the two of us goin' together. We get a bigger group then who knows if they won't throw our asses outta here or attack us, thinkin' we're gonna overtake 'em. 'Specially during a trade. We don't know 'em well enough to risk everyone like that."

"Yeah," Rick nodded after a brief silence and exchange of glances among the other members of their family. "Pro'ly right." He ran a finger through the damp curls of his freshly-washed hair. "A'right, a'right. You two go for it - just keep me updated. Won't say nothin' to anyone else. Not for now, anyhow. None of us will," he turned his head in Maggie's direction. "Just let me know when ya'll get that meetin' with Gregory – what he says, what ya learn, what ya think – if ya think he'd be on board with others from our group goin' along."

"Y'know we will," Daryl said, and he'd inched minutely closer to Beth, and she could feel the pressure of one his fingers slowly rubbing slight circles on the small of her back.

"A'right. Gonna go check out the Hall, see if we can find some fresh – fresh _er_ baby food or somethin', maybe talk to people 'bout what we can do to help out 'round here. Think there'll be 'nother dinner tonight – " Rick turned his head toward Beth as he spoke, eyebrows raised slightly.

"Yeah, think I'll be sittin' that one out," Beth said, and her voice was flat but it wasn't entirely without a hint of subtle humor. "Think the impression I made on everyone last night was enough."

Rick smiled and patted her shoulder gently as he and the rest of the group – save for Maggie and Glenn – began to pass by her.

As she turned her head away from the small group of their departing family members, she caught Daryl's eyes – and, again, the way they danced in their dense immobility was unnerving and uplifting and beautiful and she couldn't look away –

"Why the hell d'ya keep doin' this?"

Beth snapped her head back towards the area in which all of the others had previously been standing - the area that was now occupied by the pissed-off older Greene sister, who had one hip cocked to the side and a hand resting on it, like some mean girl version of a teapot, and Glenn, who just looked resigned.

"Ain't doin' _nothin'_. And I ain't doin' _this_ again, Maggie."

"You can't feel _pain_ , Beth. You _can't_ feel pain." Maggie's voice, though relatively quiet, was filled with an urgent sort of desperation.

"I'm well aware of that, Mags. Haven't been able to feel it for quite a while now. Just 'cause it's new to you don't mean it's new to me. Been this way since I been back. Since long before I came back." Beth tried to keep her voice even and calm. Devoid of any of the irritation that was clawing at her insides.

"So, what? Just 'cause it ain't _new_ \- that means you're gonna just put yourself into, literally, the _only_ dangerous situation presentin' itself right now?" Maggie stepped closer to Beth and the concern in her wide, green eyes was clouded and shadowed by her anger. Her lack of control, maybe. "Damn it, Beth. You're actin' like ya don't give a shit 'bout bein' here. 'Bout gettin' a second chance, livin' on borrowed time. 'Bout bein' back – "

"You don't get to tell me what I give a shit about. I'm doin' this _because_ I give a shit 'bout bein' back. It's gotta be worth somethin'. I'll put myself into whatever situation I want, into whatever situation where I can _help_ – don't matter if I can't feel pain," Beth's voice had dropped even lower – luckily, so had Maggie's, since they were discussing what they were – but it was cold and firm and decided and offered no room for any more attempted debate.

Voice a bit softer, she continued. "Maggie, please – just listen. Me not feelin' pain – it doesn't put me at any greater risk of gettin' killed or hurt or bitten than you are – than _all of us_ are, every single day. Don't ya get that, Maggie? And please – spare me the notion that this is _all_ because of my fucked up sensory system – ya would'a objected to me goin' if I lived inside a bubble. And that's okay, I think. 'Cause you're my big sister. But I'unno how many times I gotta say it - I don't need ya to protect me. I need ya to trust me. Same way I've always trusted you. So long as Gregory allows it, this is what I want to do – more than that, I _need_ to. Gonna go on and get my clothes changed. Take a nap. I'll see ya later, a'right?"

Beth forced her features to remain soft and neutral as she passed by Maggie and Glenn, exhaling and silently reassuring herself that she was _trying_ \- and that's what she'd vowed to herself that she was going to do.

She may not've been succeeding. Not yet, anyway – she'd consider herself _successful_ when she no longer wanted to claw her sister's eyes out nearly every time the two spoke. Not there yet.

But it was something. Something in that general direction.

xxx

As she walked across the grounds of the Colony, she felt the strong throbbing sensation behind her eyes as it made itself known - as it began to spread itself like pancake batter on a hot pan and sizzle through the tissues of her brain and the bones and membranes of her skull.

As she entered the house, she felt a careening wave of a feeling that could only be described as hysteria overtake her without any kind of warning – it rushed through her blood stream and permeated into her nervous system and webbed out, undeterred, into her skeleton. It was sudden and intense and it seemed to originate in her chest and spread methodically, maddeningly, to the most distal ends of her limbs, freezing her nerve endings and causing an abrupt spike in her energy and her exhaustion – it made her want to kick a concrete wall or headbutt a thick slab of bricks or cut that fucking baby out of Holly's stomach and stitch her back up and tell her she's sorry and she's weak.

She started pacing maniacally – and she was hit with a mental image of a person in a strait jacket locked inside a padded room and she may've actually laughed – but she kept on, pacing back and forth along the length of the living room, vision clouding and sharpening alternately as she did.

"God fucking _damn_ it," she muttered under her breath, increasing the rate of her steps to match the _thud thud thud_ of her heart in her chest. When she circled around to her starting position, she reared her fist back and struck the wall as hard as she could, grunting and sputtering wet breaths as she connected.

She stared after she punched. Stared at nothing that she could fathom in any tangible way. She left an unimpressive dent in the thin wall, and the dissatisfaction and frustration and resulting _nothingness_ , the utter emptiness of feeling _nothing_ , was more overwhelming right then in that particular moment than it maybe ever had been.

She was hyperventilating – she was well aware of that. But she almost didn't _want_ to normalize her respirations. She continued her breathing pattern – maybe even exaggerated it a bit. Because maybe if she let her erratic, unmatched breaths continue for long enough, she'd feel some distant ache or burning sensation in her chest. Maybe she'd just pass out from lack of oxygen to her brain – her brain that was far more dented than the shitty wall she'd punched for no goddamned reason.

She couldn't figure what in the hell was wrong with her. Maybe it wasn't any _one_ thing. Maybe she was having the inevitable psychotic break from reality she'd been anticipating over the last eight months.

She needed to do something. Something with her hands and her feet and her mind. If she didn't, she felt she'd likely explode into flames – a fiery path beginning at the tips of her fingers and toes like a neat and linear trail of gasoline leading to a fucked up pump station, one that'd been vandalized and stolen from and damaged beyond any salvation.

But she didn't know what to do. What she _could_ do right then. She could knock on every single door of every single house in the Colony until she found Holly. She could find out what she somehow simultaneously _needed_ and _dreaded_ to know. She could storm into the Hall, into Gregory's office, and demand to know what the fuck they knew. And if he didn't talk, she'd kill him. Break his crooked spine and burn down this entire place.

The door slammed then, startling Beth from her twisted reverie.

Daryl cleared his throat as he stood still and silent just a few steps inside of the doorway.

His eyes weren't quite on her, but they certainly weren't anywhere else _but_ her.

"Sorry," she mumbled, coiling the pacing path she'd unknowingly resumed to something more like a small bouncing and shifting of her body weight from heel to heel. "I just couldn't deal with her. But I'm tryin'."

He sighed and nodded, removing his vest and tossing it onto the floor.

"Know y'are. Better at tryin' than I ever been. Ain't gonna transform overnight."

She didn't say anything, and she was fighting hard against her wandering mind – tamping down the surfacing and resurfacing images of her – a puffed up, angry, menacing version of her – cornering Gregory or Paul or Ezekial or Dwight, maybe all of them all at once, and questioning them like a cop in an interrogation room – using methods of torture until they told her something – anything to settle her mind.

"But I – I was thinkin', Beth. Thinkin' maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea – others comin' 'long. Dependin' on what Gregory says. Dependin' on what we might be comin' across, what we might be up against."

She wrinkled her forehead and there wasn't any hope for her suppressing her response – not even if she tried.

"Ya think I'm just gonna jump off the damn truck, guns blazin' at the first piece of shit we might see? Think I'm not plannin' on gatherin' as much information as possible before I even _think_ about openin' my mouth to _anyone_? I ain't fuckin' stupid, Daryl. And gettin' a whole group of us all suddenly interested in goin' on the trade run is suspicious. And stupid. I wasn't just sayin' that to say it."

"Stop. Didn't say that – didn't say none of that. Only thing's got me thinkin' – it might be hard for ya, Beth. To hold back, if some shit does go down. If this trade run actually is to the farm. If ya get it in your head that we gotta attack right that instant. I's just thinkin' – ya know, say this trade _is_ with the farm. Say the Colony _is_ tradin' girls – or, hell, even say they're tradin' _for_ girls. And we see it happenin' – right in front of us," Beth listened as Daryl created the absolute worst- or best-case scenario.

"This fuckin' place. These fuckin' people – these people who hurt ya. Hurt others. Those men that you –" he paused and swallowed and she would've sworn she saw a slight snarl at one corner of his mouth that disappeared as he sighed. "We don't know what's gonna happen, but just say it does and – just watchin' it, rememberin' shit – it'd be harder'n shit for _me_ to hold back, knowin' that those pieces of shit _touched_ you. Ain't even know where the place is or what all they done and I fuckin' daydream 'bout killin' every fuckin' person there, Beth. But we gotta be smart."

Here she was, _trying_. So fucking hard. And he was illuminating her flaws – his, too, if she'd dissected his words a little more closely – and she felt the bubbles of anger unfurl from a thick and heavy knot in her gut and float up and out and into her chest and her head and her throat. And _that_ would only be furthering his point.

"I can handle my shit for one run. I promise. I can. I _will_. 'Cause even if all of what you said – if that _did_ happen, this run ain't our one and only shot. It's our chance to find out as much as we can – might be the only one. I'm not gonna fuck it up. Too many variables if we get others involved without even knowin' anythin' for certain," she spoke calmly, and inside of her the angry bubbles were dissipating and falling and bumping into the sides of her bones, popping and sliding down the walls of her viscera, as she controlled her breathing.

Daryl stepped close to her – planted himself right in front of her. So close that his hot breath fanned the erratic strands of hair that were hanging down from her scalp and into her face. So close that she could smell his sweat and she noticed that the air tasted like salt and smoke when she quickly wetted her lips with her tongue.

"I trust ya. Need ya to know that. Ought t' know it already, but knowin' you, that's what's swirlin' 'round in that head of yours." He lifted a dirty, calloused hand to her dirty, scarred face. "Only makin' sure that we're sure, that we're doin' the right thing and the best thing 'cause I love you and, whether ya like it or not, I wanna – and I'm gonna – protect ya much as I can for as long as I can. Can't stop me."

The humming at the base of her skull had slowed some and softened to something more similar to a gentle caress with the contact between the skin of his hand and her face, but it was quickly being replaced with a strange concoction of something more charged – something like a contradiction, like he was and she was, like chilled heat that shot upward and downward and outward and inward, straight from the hollow pit of her belly.

His eyes were still on hers as he stroked his hand over the length of her cheek and lightly trailed the tips of his fingers to the angle of her jaw and down the side of her neck, heating her cooled skin that didn't actually feel cool, not at all, from the inside. And in his eyes she saw a pleading surrounded by the most intense kind of devotion – of life, of death, of whatever the hell might come next in this world – and it seemed to say: _"Please let me protect you. Let me do it right this time – every time – or the walking dead will have more to live for than I ever will."_

She reached a barely-trembling hand – and the source of the trembling was a mystery, but maybe it was from the power in this moment, the continuation and shapeshifting force of the adrenaline she'd been feeling when she'd slammed her fist into the wall, maybe from the manual labor she'd been doing most of the day, she didn't know – to the top of his shirt, gripping it right where it dipped down – and it was sticky and sweaty and dirty between her fingers, against her palm – in the space between where his clavicles and sternum met at the base of his throat. And she pulled with all the force she could, nearly dragging his entire body, pelvis to chest, against hers.

With her other hand, she combed her fingers into his hair, following the strands all the way to their origination at his scalp – and it wasn't a gentle maneuver, but it wasn't rough either; it was filled with an unanticipated need that was also quickly filling her.

He groaned a little and it made her throb everywhere, all at once – and she pulled his head down with more force and roughly brought his lips to hers. Because no matter what mission or chaotic thoughts or emotions or sensations or lack of sensations occupied the forefront of her mind at any given time, _this_ was always there. _He_ was. And she couldn't forget that – her damaged brain couldn't forget it; it wouldn't – he was so much a part of why she was still there – still there to help protect her family, to fight with her sister, to nudge his lips apart with her tongue and swallow down his groaned _"Beth,_ god, Beth _"_.

He lifted her up abruptly as his own kiss and the pressure he was transferring onto her and into her began to edge toward something like frantic, and her knees immediately circled his solid trunk while his hands groped clumsily but hungrily at the cheeks of her ass through her jeans.

He plopped her down on the small counter in the kitchen, in between the sink and the non-functional dishwasher, where she could rest her back and her head against the overhanging cabinet.

She spread her legs wide for him as he stepped close to her, sliding one large hand up the outside of her thigh from knee to hip and hip to knee, over and over with increasing pressure that she was nearly shoving herself into – harder and more and rougher and longer.

She was burning and so was he, and she thought briefly about the internal fire she'd imagined earlier in her state of unexplained anxiety and right then decided maybe _"they"_ were wrong; the ones who said that _you can't fight fire with fire._ Maybe fire was the _only_ way to fight fire.

"Daryl," she breathed, sliding his shirt over his head and pressing open-mouthed, wet kisses and licks down the side of his neck to the top of one of his shoulders. "I want you."

His cock was straining against his jeans; she could feel it as he pushed into her, against the inside of her thighs and the lowest part of her belly. And, god, she was more than ready. Had _been_ more than ready for so, so long.

"Want you. Wanna feel you," he breathed into her ear, nipping her lobe and tracing the outline of its shell with his warm tongue. He turned his head further into her and began unbuttoning her shirt, kissing his way down the length of her neck to the top of her chest. "Can't wait anymore," he murmured against her skin.

She shivered against the heated spasm that licked at her insides at his words. She shoved at his chest with her hands, and, though his reaction was slightly delayed, he eventually took a clumsy step backward. Even so, the need was unwavering and all over his face and eyes and mouth and posture and smell.

"Sorry," he said, running a hand through his hair as he tried with visible effort to keep his eyes averted from her mostly-exposed upper body.

And she almost wanted to laugh.

His voice lowered and he tipped his head down, looking upward at her through the shaggy strands of hair falling across his forehead. He took a step closer and kept stoking the fire inside of her with his words and the shape of his mouth as he said them.

"Got no idea what that – what hearin' you does to me. The shit ya say, sounds ya make. Seein' you, lookin' at me like that. Makes me fuckin' crazy, Beth."

She suppressed another shudder and lifted her eyes to his. "Why don't ya show me then?"

She wasn't coy; she didn't flutter her eyelashes or sashay her hips as she hopped down from the counter top and made her way into the living room and stood over their bed – their patch of blankets, more accurately - the safest place in Beth's world. Her favorite place.

Her question was genuine. The invitation in her words was clear – but it was only in her words; in the way that she kept her eyes on his as if she were asking him the most important question in the world. Maybe she was. Maybe there wasn't anything else more important – at this moment or maybe even any other moment – than this.

She heard him inhale shakily and then the muffled sounds of his steps echoed off of the walls as he entered the room. And, by that time, she'd removed her shirt completely and her bra and had begun working on her jeans.

She lifted her eyes to his, and he was visibly nervous or anxious or skiddish or _something_.

"Ain't got do anythin' ya don't wanna." He said it quietly and with his head directed slightly downward, but there was a restraint somewhere in his voice, one that probably only Beth could've ever detected.

"Same to you," she replied, keeping her voice steady as she stepped out her pants, leaving her bare except for her underwear.

He didn't respond. Just sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and obliterated the distance between them in a few quick steps and circled his arms around her, pulling her into him.

She undressed him quickly and without any discernible method or technique; the overwhelming need to have his skin – bare and hot and raw – against hers was drowning out all of the extraneous noise that typically occupied her mind and her soul, and she let out a gasp - or a moan or a whimper - when they were both naked moments later, sliding themselves down as a unit, as one whole person, onto the floor.

She thought for the briefest moment about what this meant – however far it could go. It was everything and a _big deal_ , or at least it once was, back in a previous life, in the world from which she came.

But she wasn't fearful or nervous or having any sort of existential crisis. It – all of it, everything they'd done and were doing and could ever do – felt as natural, as innate, as the process of breathing - as natural as anything neutrally-mediated or meant for survival.

But she noticed he was shaking beneath her as she straddled him and experimentally slid herself along the hard length of him.

"Daryl?" she asked in a voice filled with equal amounts of concern and unfiltered desire. She sat up straight and halted her movements against him, perching her hands on his chest for leverage. "What is it? Am I doin' somethin' wrong?"

He shook his head and smoothed back a thick strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear with a gentleness that made her want to weep and write and maybe – _maybe_ – hum a song she used to love.

"Tell me," she whispered, removing one hand from his chest to cup his cheek and pull slightly at the corner of his mouth with her thumb.

He was silent for several moments, but she could tell – by his eyes and the slight curve of his mouth and the quiet grinding of his teeth and clenching of his jaw – that he was organizing the words he wanted to say inside of his head. And she felt the faintest flash of anxiety in her chest.

"Worried," he finally murmured. He lifted a hand to her chest and she watched as his eyes followed its path down the shallow valley between her breasts and over the scarred, taut skin of her stomach to the sharp angle of her hip.

"'Bout hurtin' you."

Her breath caught in her throat at the look in his eyes as he confessed his concern. They were boring into hers, and it felt like an apology and a question and a promise.

"You won't," she said with genuine confidence. She kept her eyes trained on his as she started circling her hips slowly and rhythmically and in a way that spread the wetness that'd accumulated and pooled at her core over his lower abdomen and the coarse trail of hair there and even further. "You won't."

He bit back what Beth thought was likely a moan and his free hand shot up to her other hip as he tried to stop her or slow her or maybe make her move more quickly – she wasn't sure and she was fairly certain that he wasn't sure, either.

And it isn't as if she hadn't thought that this may've been an issue. If she'd ever thought that this moment would happen. But from what she'd heard from friends in school and Maggie, it'd only hurt a little, and only at first – and that was for people with the ability to feel pain. Which left her confused as to -

"Ain't gonna know if I'm hurtin' you, Beth," he said even as his head lolled back against the bundle of blankets bunched up underneath as he gently moved her hips in a slow, slow circular rhythm over his cock.

She grabbed one of his hands from her hip and forcefully shoved it down in between them, ignoring the shock of electricity that shot up from her toes to her cunt to her heart at his hissed string of curses at the sensation of her.

"Feel that?" she asked, and the index and middle fingers of her free hand dipped down to the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs, and she began rubbing lazy circles while grinding her center down against his hand.

"Fuck," he groaned, shifting her weight so that he could enter her, first with one finger and then a second. Beneath her, she felt his dick flex against her ass at the very moment his fingers filled her.

"So good," she said as he pumped his fingers in and out of her. "Feels so fuckin' _good_ , Daryl. You got – ah, you got no idea how good it feels, and – and, jesus, I love you and I want you and I swear to fuckin' _god_ it won't hurt me. This - _you_ \- could never hurt me. Only gonna make me feel good. Gonna make me whole again."

His hips were rolling and lifting up into her, and his cock was like steel as he thrust into the skin of her ass and inner thighs and everything was so wet – his skin and hers, her core and his hand and her hand and the velvety skin of his cock and their mouths, hot and whispering each other's name like a prayer as they slid over one another faster, harder -

And she felt the coiling deep inside her starting already, because despite all of their previous encounters, she'd never seen him like this. Maybe because they'd always been rushed, always keeping one ear on the rest of the world because they had to.

Not now. He was beautiful and she was making him look this way - head tipped back, mouth open and eyes nearly-closed but simultaneously savoring and soaking in every single inch of her with their darkened blue - and the bizarre sense of peace that overcame her was strange and unexpected and made sudden, penetrating thoughts of him – of her fucking him until he passed out from pleasure or cried or burst into flames flash through her head like projector slides.

He sat upright, mouth still open and hot and wet – and he was mumbling things that made muscles deep, deep inside of her – ones she never knew she had – quiver and clench as he wrapped his arms around her. _"Fucking shit, Beth. Want you so fuckin' bad. You're so fuckin' wet. For me? Jesus, Beth –"_ and she was moaning with every fucking word he spoke when, in one swift, jerky motion, he flipped her onto her back. And she was writhing with the almost-instantaneous contrast between the coolness in the air and the heat of her skin and the slick sheen of sweat and the milky coat of her own juices covering her from stomach to mid-thigh.

"No condom," he muttered, sliding his cock along the entirety of her entrance.

"It's fine," she said – and she probably would've said it anyway, but in that moment she'd have likely _killed_ anything that attempted to come in between them and this. "Can pull out, right?"

He nodded jerkily as he sucked one sensitive nipple into his mouth and rolled it around in between his teeth.

"Please," he said, nuzzling his forehead against her chest, voice broken by the battle between his need for her and the need he knew she had for him and his need to not hurt her.

"Please fuckin' tell me if anythin' feels bad. If I do somethin' wrong. Gotta tell me." He was grinding his hips against her, tip of his cock repeatedly brushing over her entrance and driving her towards insanity or spontaneous combustion even as he voiced his requests to her.

"Fuckin' want you so bad, Beth. But I'd rather cut my own dick off than hurt you."

She smiled in spite of herself and responded – if for no other reason than the sake of the man she fucking loved - with every individual piece of her fractured mind and heart and soul, with everything that she used to be and everything that she'd never be again. "Well, now, that wouldn't be any good for me either, ya know. Just – Daryl, please. Never wanted anythin' like this, way I want you. _Need_ you."

He nodded and inhaled again – and the breath was shaky as it entered and then exited his mouth, but he moved his face to hers and dipped his tongue into her mouth and slid it along hers, drawing a moan from deep inside her chest as he breathed a gentle but strained _"love you,"_ against her lips and started to push himself inside of her.

He must've only moved no more than an inch when he stopped and lifted his eyes to hers. He was panting, fucking _panting_ , but halted his movements until she nodded, encouraging him and reassuring him and begging him, all at once.

She felt a deep kind of pressure as he slowly filled her. She could sense when he'd reached the limit, the hilt of her, and it wasn't an unpleasant feeling at all. A stretching of tissue that her body had been built for, a sensation of being connected in the way that humans were made to be.

He pulled himself out, just barely, before sliding in again – slowly; so, so slowly. It must've been torturous for him, Beth thought, but _god_ \- much as some part of her wanted him to hold her down and just _fuck_ her the way that she knew – instinctually – would make him crazy with sensation - the tenderness in his every action felt like his hands caressing her heart, and it triggered a hot rush of wet heat to pool in her belly and rush to her core and lower still - and she knew the moment he felt it.

" _Ah, holy fuckin' shit_ ," he panted. "Shit. Beth, y'alright?"

"Better than," she whispered against his neck. "Want you to fuck me – please," she was whining, begging even, and she didn't care. "Make me feel good."

He held onto his restraint even as he began to do exactly that - and not long after he started slowly thrusting in and out of her, she started to feel it. Everything. Him. Herself. The ridges of his cock, hard but subtle rings that seemed to somehow expand and contract, against the walls of her vagina. The unrelenting friction on her clit created by the downward force of his pubic bone – something she'd never even thought about being a _thing_ when it came to the actual act of sex, but she thought it wasn't likely that it was an accident on his part.

Soon she was moaning along with him. Wrapping her legs around his lower back and digging her heels into the flesh of the cheeks of his ass, using them as leverage to quicken his pace and drive him deeper and deeper.

When she started to thrust her pelvis against him in a slightly offbeat rhythm, she felt his hips stutter and jerk and slow and just as she recognized the change in his pace, he sunk his teeth into the flesh of her breast and warned against her skin with his mouth and his teeth and his tongue, _"fuck, Beth, easy – shit, you gotta slow down."_ She let out a long, loud moan at his words that somehow, somehow made her impossibly wetter and hungrier for him – both for his release and for this to continue for as long as fucking possible.

He sat up suddenly, propping himself on one arm while he shifted his weight onto his heels, and he dropped his other hand down to her clitoris and started circling it with a progressively increasing pace while continuing to fuck her in shorter but just as - maybe even more - powerful strokes - and the combination of his ministrations on her body and the sight of his muscles tensing and flexing and his eyes watching her like he needed her to breathe caused her own heavy breaths to turn into exhaled moans over which she found she had no control.

"Feel good?" he asked in choppy, breathless syllables as he continued to work her in more ways than Beth thought could ever be possible – physically, internally, externally, emotionally, mentally.

"So good." Her words were almost a whine as she forced her heavy eyelids open to watch him as he watched her. She felt the familiar, but somehow deeper, quickening pressure start to form waves in the upper quadrants of her gut – and it was different, somehow, in comparison to the onslaught of every other orgasm she'd ever experienced in her short life, and there was a tidal wave of power surging behind it that made her toes claw and curl involuntarily.

"Gonna make me come, Beth," Daryl almost growled the words through gritted teeth as he continued pumping in and out, alternately speeding up and slowing down and grabbing the sides of her thighs and the cheeks of her ass and rubbing her clit with light and then deep pressure. And his voice almost sounded accusatory – frustrated, maybe. But she was close, so close.

"Fuck, I can't – can't wait," he muttered, tipping his head back.

"God, _oh_ god. Daryl. Please. Wait," she said in an almost-frantic, whispered moan. She placed a hand over his and guided his fingers that'd been working against her clit in a tighter, deeper circling motion that quickly made her begin to see stars and all the sounds around her - of him and her and the wet squelching of their sex as he kept fucking her over and over and over - began to blur.

" _Shit_ , Beth – please. Want you to come, wanna see you, fuck-" his words were jumbled and his voice was edging near panic despite the undercurrent of demand in his tone. And it was enough – more than – to send her stumbling, falling, running over the edge.

"Yeah," she breathed. "Oh - oh my god. _Fuck_ , Daryl – fuck, I'm coming – god, I'm coming," her voice was hoarse and nearing a shrill pitch as she moaned a string of curses and his name as the world around her started to fade and the pulsing – stronger than she'd ever felt – started so, so quickly and so deep inside of her and right up against and around his cock, which had stilled inside of her for the moment though she didn't think he'd come, and _oh - oh, she was squeezing around him, trapping him inside of her where he should always, always be_ \- and maybe she was screaming or digging her nails into him or something, but she wasn't even inside of herself – only _he_ was, and she was floating over and riding the waves that felt as though they'd never fucking end.

And his voice cut through the ringing in her ears and she was somehow able to open her eyes and watch as, after waiting for her to shakily nod her head, he pounded into her without the careful restraint he'd been exercising throughout all of this. And his eyes were on hers – unmoving, unwavering. His mouth opened and released a silent moan and he suddenly jerked himself out of her and, cock in hand, spurted thick, hot streams of his release onto her belly as he murmured things that made her want to start this entire process all over again – maybe more than once, or maybe defy anatomical possibilities and lick his come off of her own body: _"I'm coming - oh my fuckin' god – feels so fuckin' good. Beth - Beth, you feel so fuckin' good."_

He collapsed onto her, shaking and spent, and their heavy breaths were synchronized and full of the enormity of life – these little lives they'd retained and lost and rebuilt – and love that settled deep and thick in Beth's chest.

Xxx

She was awoken from the deepest and most comforting sleep she could remember being graced with sometime later. Much later. The rays of light that'd illuminated the skin and sweat and collision of their bodies and souls and minds were gone and replaced by the stripes of a dusky glow across the room.

Daryl was lying beside her, as close as what she suspected was possible, breathing deeply and evenly. He'd dressed himself at some point, apparently, and he must've cleaned the stickiness from her legs and abdomen and chest, and she felt clean. At peace. A comfort that was more than just warmth and blankets and rested muscles.

She wondered how long it would last, this feeling. How long it _could_ last.

And her answer came quickly, much to her disappointment. She remained there on the floor, unsure if she'd heard what she thought she'd heard – but then it came again. Heavy knocking against the door. She sighed and looked over at Daryl, who uncharacteristically didn't stir or jerk his entire body upright or reach for his crossbow with inhuman speed – and that was endearing and alarming at the same time.

She stood up groggily and wrapped a blanket snugly around herself, making her way toward the door as quickly as she was able without tripping over her own jelly-like legs in an attempt to conserve the air of tranquility surrounding her sleeping - _what?_ Lover? Boyfriend? Companion?

Shaking her head at herself and her erratic thoughts, she reached the door. She fumbled with the knob, eventually opening the door just enough to address whoever had been knocking.

"Liz?"

She heard her voice, heard her say the name – the sort-of alias, the one she'd used whenever names were at all necessary before she made it to Alexandria – before she saw her. She recognized the voice – vaguely, but she did. It was timid and raspy and full of an understated kind of fear – and that, in particular, was what Beth remembered about it. About her.

She curved her head cautiously around the edge of the door and saw her - a version of her, at least, wearing an oversized coat and a thick wool cap and sunglasses despite the dimness of the evening that'd settled over the earth. Different than she'd looked last night, but still recognizable to Beth.

And her heart dropped – fast and hard and deep – from her chest to her stomach when her eyes dropped to her former companion's concealed but detectable, protruding middle.

Beth lifted her eyes to her face – knowing that underneath the sunglasses were honey-brown eyes shaped like almonds.

"It's me. It's Holly. From the farm – well, yeah, you probably knew that. Um, I – I saw you at dinner last night. Nasty fall you had there – but I noticed you weren't there tonight. And so I – I asked 'round, figured out this place was yours. Finally."

Beth struggled to keep her knees locked, to keep herself in a standing position as Holly rambled – and there was no hope for her voice. Not at this moment.

"Look, I'm sorry to barge in," Holly continued, lowering her voice. "But – thing is, we really shouldn't be seen together out here. In front of any of the others, so… Can I come in?"


End file.
